MyDogParty

I was (and still am) very grateful

2012-11-30T14:44:00.000-08:00

It's the final day of November, the near last breath of 2012 (one more month to go!) This means that I either blog today about my Thanksgiving holiday weekend (and subsequent rides) or forget about it. Given that my blog's underlying and ongoing theme is all about being grateful, I have decided to get off my lazy bum and write.

To start, I did not go to my usual spot for dinner this year. My friend and her bro, who normally throw an insanely decadent all-the-fixin's-type-dinner, flew out of town. This left me a Thanksgiving orphan. Luckily, I still have enough charm (and ability to look pathetic) to weasel my way into being invited to another home, Tina and Bob's. Only, they took me up on my offer to actually bring something this year other than a purchased pie from Marie Callendar's and a bottle of booze. This year, I had to cook.

I'm not a cook, by the way. I do throw crap together from time to time to feed myself, but it usually involves Kale, feta cheese & currants. I offered this (salad) up to my sweet friends as an option to bring or scalloped potatoes (how hard can that be? - potatoes, butter and cheese) or Brussels Sprouts...with bacon. Guess what Bob chose? Well, if you're a guy, you will guess correctly. No man turns down bacon. In fact, I don't think he even heard "Brussels Sprouts" at all and just thought I was bringing a bowl of fried bacon. enough to feed 25 people plus extra...for him. In a man's world, bacon is a perfectly suitable side dish.

As for the Brussels Sprouts? Those little bastards are an arduous undertaking. First, I had to buy 5 lbs of them. They aren't expensive (so please don't think me complaining about price) but to cut the ends off of, take the outer leaves off of and halve 5 lbs of them is an hour and a half process...an hour and a half. I then had to "blanch" them in boiling water, "shock" them in ice water and "dry" them (gently) on paper towels. It was like a frickin' "spa day" for Brussels Sprouts. The bacon was far easier (perhaps I should have just prepared a bowl of that?). I put 6 slices of it on a parchment paper lined cookie sheet and popped it in a 375% oven for 25 minutes. This is the best way to make bacon, by the way, and it makes your house smell glorious!

After all this Brussels Sprouts pampering, I had to pick them up (again, gently), put them in an enormous bowl and transport them to my friends' house. There, I spread them on a cookie sheet and threw them in their oven (set to 400%) for six minutes. Prior to this, I set up shop out on Bob's backyard barbeque counter (that he built; it's very snazzy) so as to whip up the "dressing" for the Brussels Sprouts. It was comprised of olive oil, maple syrup, Dijon mustard, Balsamic vinegar, salt & pepper. I had to whisk it all together in my mixing bowl, which was the most enjoyable part since I had an audience of guests watching me - kind of like my own reality cooking show.

After all that whisking and the sprouts were heated thoroughly, I tossed everything together and added dried cranberries. I kept a small batch in a separate bowl for the vegetarians and added the crumbled bacon to the rest. Phew! I'm no cook, but they turned out amazing. I was told they were "a hit" and now I have to bring them for Christmas Dinner. The bright side? I got invited back over to Bob & Tina's for Christmas. The downer? Go back up and re-read the last two paragraphs (sigh).

nom nom nom...so good, everything! (those Brussels Sprouts in the front are the vegetarian ones)...

with bacon added...

I'm reporting this tongue-and-cheek, of course, as I was very, very grateful to have such a wonderful invitation to begin with, let alone such a nice time at my friends' dinner. I was grateful to be served some of the best tri-tip I've ever had (not that I've had a lot, but I'm pretty certain this was stellar). Bob smoked the tri and he made the turkey (delicious). Other folks brought all the other fixin's - it was a feast! Thank goodness I rode beforehand.

See how I segued into the cycling? Yup, I rode. On turkey day, I rode solo close to 25 miles, sprinting in intervals down Ventura Boulevard (pretty empty), across the valley and back. It was so beautiful out and fairly quiet, typical for a holiday morning.

Ventura Blvd. Thanksgiving morning...empty!

We do get a taste of the Fall/Winter season here, but just a taste...

the Orange Line bike path just lovely with the wash of color on it...

Then, on Friday, I decided to just hike as I knew I had a Simi Valley ride with Bob and Tim on Saturday. I went trekking back up Fryman Canyon again, only in reverse, so it was pretty tough. Just as the day before, it was stunning out.

yes, we still have these in November...

the view out over the valley toward Burbank...

Simi...sigh. I hadn't been over Santa Susana in awhile. I love that hill, it used to be a piece of cake for me, but not anymore. I won't even sugarcoat it, it's my weight. I keep saying "I've got to lose weight," but then I fight myself. You see, I'm the jovial type. I love nothing more than some vino and good food with friends. Scratch that! I love nothing more than riding my bike on epic rides with friends. Oh, look, a conundrum - fat or fit; sit or ride - I can't do both. Really, I can't do both. I'm the kind of build that it's feast or famine but my metabolism (what's left of it) doesn't quite work the way it should. I'm not whining, just stating the facts. I keep trying, but as of today, I'm like a "rolling tomato" on a bike - a very suitable metaphor.

Anyway, I did make it over Santa Susana, both ways. Going out to Simi was easier (fresh legs and Tim and Bob stopped to fix a flat). I even pushed a bit (for me). I then waited for the boys at the top, a total change of circumstance! I was smug too...but that did not last. After chasing their wheels down Los Angeles Ave and into Simi, my legs began to wane. The men had decided before the ride to take me up First Street (which becomes Long Canyon Road). I loved the new route, it's pretty and a nice gradual climb. Sad thing was, I just couldn't move the pedals past slow-mo. Every rider passed me...every rider, no matter age, size or ability (a lady on clip-strap pedals blew by me like I was standing still). This just frustrated me and took away from the enjoyment of it all. I also worried about slowing the men down.

first time ever that I beat these guys up Santa Susana Pass; if I'd known it would only take a flat tire, I'd have carried nails with me on previous rides (snicker)...

And down to Simi Valley we go...

He's too fast for me...

I can barely catch that wheel, let alone stay on it...

After Long Canyon, we rode back on Madera Road. It was here that I got pissy. The men need to ride without me. The disparity between their level and mine is shocking and I can no longer deny it. I told them as much, even though Bob kept disagreeing. He's a sweetie (and still MFRPOAT) but I think he was being dishonest in an effort not to hurt my feelings. I'm a grown-up (most of the time) and I know I need to pedal solo until I can keep up.

"Honest, Bob, I need to go out on my own and push myself until I can keep up with you and Tim," I told him at the golf course (our one and only break during the ride).

"But will you actually challenge, push yourself if you don't ride with us...stronger riders?"

He's lucky he still has his teeth, but I get the point. And, yes, I'll challenge myself (only not this upcoming weekend due to rain; my riding will be literally washed out!)

And don't get me started on this one...

I think he's cheering me on here...

Bob would really like for me to just focus on pedaling forward...

First Street, a gradual climb...

getting dropped by the boys (and then getting dropped by every single other rider out that day...sigh)...

Oh, but the climb was worth it for the descent on Long Canyon Road...

Heading to the golf course, just about out of gas...

Santa Susana Pass was cruel to me last Saturday, but I'll get even with her,

mark my words...

As for the rest of the ride, Santa Susana Pass on the way back was torture. Legs were as MIA as my motivation. I crawled up it. I insisted (yelled and shrieked) that the men go on without me and I'd meet them back at Bob's house. For once, they obliged. This gave me a chance to ride and ponder, lost in my own thoughts. I came up with nothing new or inspiring, but the anxiety of holding up other riders did fade. Once back at the tip of Bob's driveway, I learned we rode 45 miles with a little over 2,500 feet of climbing. I'm not concerned about bragging rights these days, so I'll take it.

Oh, and in case I sound like I don't appreciate the strong men (friends) I rode with, not true. I love these guys. They could have left my sorry ass a long time before I screeched at them like a rabid baboon, and I don't take that lightly. I just know the work I have cut out for me if I really want them to both ride with me and to enjoy themselves at the same time!

So, did I rest on Sunday? No. I rode with Herb up above Reseda, on dirt. I'm a glutton for punishment, I suppose. Surprisingly, my legs were stronger than the day before. So, riding out and down Mandeville Canyon wasn't as difficult as I worried it would be. In fact, I had a great ride.

Herb and me taking off on very compacted dirt; someone must have leveled it up there...

the geek in me never gets tired of this one photo op spot...

the Nike Missile site, or as I like to think of it, our potty stop...

have to have at least one of these...

every time I see these up there, I wonder it they are edible (?)...

Herb is definitely digging his 29'er...

I also got to watch Herb, in full boy-joy mode, take on some single tracks. Herb has really improved on a bike. I can't say I'm not jealous. However, you won't catch me on any of those single tracks. I'm too chicken-shit, but I was highly entertained watching Herb climb up and then bomb down them.

see that speck at the top of that single track hill? - that would be Herb...

what goes up...

must come...

down...

It was simply gorgeous up in the mountains, an exceptional day. I am so lucky to live where I do. I miss my family for sure, but I do not miss the soggy, freezing, drab Novembers in Tennessee. So for all the high rent, traffic and city drama I deal with, I'm still grateful to be able to ride, hike and play in such a strange but beautiful wilderness just above the city's din.

I offered to give that couple my bike so that I could ride their dog back to the car;

they declined my offer...

Herb brought turkey treats, the compassionate kind made out of malt balls, Oreo Cookies, Reeses PB cups and M&Ms...

and another furry face, who wanted a treat but did not get one...

So, that was my Thanksgiving holiday weekend. I was (and still am) very grateful for every minute of it - the time with friends, phone calls with family, having the health and ability to ride and the glorious weather to ride in! Can't say the same for this coming weekend (it's been a full week of rain out here in "sunny" southern California). We need the moisture, so I won't complain. I just hope December doesn't turn into another freak month like back in 2010 when it rained for three straight weeks!

Oh, last but not least - I (almost) forgot to mention my gratitude for the tiniest, most scaly, most zen individual in my life...

...here she is getting ready for a Thanksgiving photo shoot;

I wanted to dress her up as a turkey, but at the last minute, she refused -

she didn't want anyone to get any smart ideas...

it's my favorite time of year to ride

2012-11-20T13:34:00.001-08:00

I was talking to Dad last night about my ride on Sunday and lamenting over my dismal performance on the bike, the heaviness in my legs and the deep fatigue I felt immediately following. Granted, I was out on Saturday night at a friend's house and had a little vino. I ended up sleeping on my friend's couch, not because I was drunk, but because I was just so, so tired. Even a modest amount of wine (for me) had me loopy and ready to snore by 9pm (aren't I a party of none?) My friend, her husband and another mutual buddy continued with tequila shots, something I'm very happy I skipped.

Even with the evening out, I shouldn't have been so damn tired on Sunday. I almost turned around within a half mile of Bob's house. As it was, he agreed to skim our 50 mile ride into Simi Valley down to 30 miles of the hill party down to 20 miles mostly flat. I think I looked as pathetic as I felt. 20 miles have never been so daunting. My legs had stayed home, in bed, lazy on a Saturday morning. I was left pedaling with my elbows; the end result was not pretty.

Anyway, when talking to Dad yesterday, it hit me. Duh - I donated blood on Thursday afternoon. In case you don't know, giving blood is just like blood letting. It's life-saving for some little person lying in a hospital bed suffering and health-improving for the person giving the blood. Google it (I'm too lazy to link you to any articles). Basically, by giving a pint of blood you burn up to 650 calories (just thought you'd like to know) and force your body to replenish the blood cells you've lost. This means new blood and a cleansing of sorts for all those toxins floating around in there. However, it does leave you drained (literally and figuratively). And never do I feel it more than when I try to ride a bike within a week following the donation.

I'm sure I'll recover by this coming weekend. Seeing as how it's Thanksgiving this week and how I have four days off work, I'm gonna ride my bicycle. 30 miles TG morning, a mountain bike ride with Herb on Friday, x amount of miles chasing Bob and Tim's wheels on Saturday and lazy-dazy fiddle-fart-around-by-bike ride on Sunday, or I may hike (with the girls, I hope). It's going to be glorious out here in California; the outdoors will be a calling!

Here are some photos from this past Sunday:

I love these kind of ride days when the sky is full of clouds...

the air was crisp, the breeze chilly; jackets were required...

my artsy fartsy photo for the day...

you can't take men anywhere without them wanting to stop & shop at auto stores...

Okay, just pretty sky, clear road shots (next four)...

a touch of fall here and there...

Swankville really is majorly swank; riding over there is so, so nice...

Bob's artsy fartsy photo out over his driveway;

this is the beer zone...

That's all I got. But that's gonna change, cause the miles are gonna increase. I come alive in the fall and winter (well, when it isn't raining!). It's my favorite time of year to ride.

I do still have a blog

2012-11-12T17:47:00.001-08:00

It appears that I do still have a blog. It's been more neglected of late than ever before. Although it has sat darkened, its corners filthy with dust and cobwebs, it's still here. I'm still here, too. I just took a respite, not from riding (will get to that in a minute) but from writing...at least, on here.

Before I head into it, I will ask anyone reading this entry to do one of two things - continue reading; or, if you are NOT interested in politics-talk (and are just flat-out worn out over the recent election), then "please proceed" (wink, wink) to the photos below.

Now, about that election...

*begin rant*

I lost three Facebook friends over it, all three men. I'm saddened by this but not surprised. I get obsessed with politics and am very opinionated; this year was no different - except that it was like politics on steroids with all the nastiness and division in this country. We all know the outcome of last Tuesday's election, but will we ever get over the debacle of it all? (we might...or this year may just be a preview of 2016...shiver)

I'm an independent voter, by the way. I registered as a Democrat in 2000 just so I could vote in the primaries. Democrats appeal far more to me for many reasons, but a big one has to do with my own life experiences. I will try to explain.

I have been employed since age 15, part-time through the end of high school and college and full-time beginning age 20. Only time I haven't had a job was in 2003 (for two months; took no unemployment at that time) and in 2009 (for nine months; did take unemployment but searched for and secured a job long before using the full 1.5 years worth of benefits that President Obama extended at the time due to the recession).

I've never felt sorry for myself or entitled to anything (other than the right to live free in this country) and I've always paid my far share of taxes. I've made a variety of salaries and have learned over the years that time is undeniably more valuable than higher pay. I work now for a government agency, one that serves our future work force by educating them. It's a good job, a decent salary (well, it pays my rent, anyway) and I rarely work more than 8 hours a day. You won't catch me complaining other than when my fantasy of winning the SuperLotto's $150 million jackpot doesn't pan out. I'm fortunate even if I have had to work all my life with only a few instances of anyone giving me money or my being just lucky financially.

I have had many kind, generous folks (both family and friends) who've rescued me last minute - paid for a new tire on my used car, spotted me on a phone bill I couldn't pay, taken me into their home for a couple of weeks when I had no place to sleep, bought me dinner at a place I couldn't afford, gave me clothes, even paid my rent when I just couldn't scrape up the dollars for one month - and their generosity has always been appreciated by me, not taken for granted, and I do, in my own ways, try to pay it forward. I'm grateful for what I have, what I've accomplished and forever grateful to those who've helped me along the way - including the United States of America, i.e. the big ol' government.

When I was 17, I had the grades to enter college early but no money. My parents had no money. I had no one to go to and no way to pay for a higher education. I applied for and received a student loan (and partial scholarship). Thank God for government assistance. Without it, I'd have had no chance to earn any college credits, let alone an Associate Degree (I lack one semester from graduating, something I chose not to do as I was worried about the debt I was already in with Sallie Mae; plus, I got the chance to come to CA thanks to my very kind aunt and uncle - the rest is history). I paid every cent of my college loans back and never, not once, had a late payment (can't say the same on a credit card bill..blerg).

Then, as I mentioned above, in 2009, I was laid off from the company for which I'd given my best for seven years. I received government assistance (unemployment benefits) for nine months. Thank God for the government's "safety net," or I don't know how I've have paid rent and continued living out here until I could find another job. My father, bless his heart, has helped me from time to time although I try to never ask for it and reluctantly take it when he sends a check (he did, by the way, buy me Patsy - I owe him forever for that!). But he couldn't float me for nine months without losing some income that he needs for his retirement days (if he ever retires - the man still works his tail off!) So, I'm grateful that I had unemployment to fall back on in a time of need.

I'm sure you can guess what I'm leading up to. I voted for President Obama, but I didn't do this so that I could get "free stuff." I did so because I think he's done a very good job in the past four years given the shit mess he walked into (yes, some things could have been done better - but since I've never been President of the United States, I'll reserve further judgement). I also think he and the Democratic party understand the nuances of this country. We come in all shapes, sizes, colors and sexes. Dividing America into "makers" and "takers" is beyond stereotyping and stigmatizing; it's just flat out untrue (I can use my own experiences that I've described in this entry as an example). Lastly, I voted for the Democrats, because the alternative was loony-tune-ville, sinister and just woefully out of touch with the world we live in - i.e. reality.

What the hell happened recently? Or have I been asleep? Who are the Republican party? Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter and Donald Trump aside, they used to be the GOP of at least some self- respect and dignity. Not anymore - and, unless they kick the kooks to the side, never again. The elephants have had one too many, stayed up way past their bed times or have simply lost their way. Their platform this year (yes, I watched the full RNC as well as the DNC) was scary. With their vitriol spewing, lying, nasty tactics and insane desire to time-travel back to 60 years ago is what did them in whether they want to blame anyone but themselves now that the dust has settled.

Here is what spooked me, in soundbites:

- Less government, privatized Social Security, Medicaid cut, Medicare vouchers, less firemen, less teachers, less policemen, do away with FEMA and let the states take care of everything
- 47% (those who won't take personal responsibility for their lives); not my job to worry about those people; kick the can down the road;
- "you people," "stop it! this is hard," "wake up"
- "If" you are hiring women; binders full of women
- Pro-life; no exceptions for abortions even in the case of the mother's health (life)
- No abortions even in cases of rape or incest; repeat - rape, rape, rape, rape, rape, rape
- Forcible rape, legitimate rape, honest rape, emergency rape, easy rape
- Rape babies are something God intended to happen if the female's body doesn't shut that whole thing down
- Sandra Fluke is a slut, so is every other woman who wants her employer to include the coverage of birth control in their health insurance policies; really, she just wants free birth control as do all women, because they are sluts, all of them
- Women are sluts
- Single women shouldn't be allowed to vote (Ann Coulter)
- Makers and takers, moochers
- Ayn Rand
- we don't just let people die, we pick them up in ambulances and take them to the emergency rooms
- borrow money from your parents
- make it so they want to self-deport
- it is fair that someone who makes $50K/year pays more Federal income taxes than someone who makes $14 million/year
- show your tax returns for the past 10 years? (still waiting)
- Sensata
- violence is due to single moms and poor parenting; Tagg Romney jokes that he would have liked to have punched the President of the United States after Debate II
- BLS employment numbers cooked
- Obama caused the hurricane; Hurricane Sandy helped Obama
- Obama: muslim, ~~socialist~~ communist, not born in USA, gay, a murderer, black
- Benghazi, Benghazi, Benghazi, Benghazi
- Mitt Romney, Paul Ryan, Todd Akin, Richard Mourdock, Michele Bachmann, Joe Walsh, Scott Brown, Allen West, Karl Rove, Dick Morris, Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, Pat Buchanan, Jack Welch, Glenn Beck, Jennifer Rubin, every talking head on Fox News
- Donald Trump, @realDonaldTrump - "Mr. President, I will give $5 million to the charity of your choice if you will..."
- War on Nate Silver; polls are skewed toward Dems
- Voter suppression - John Husted (calling him a douchebag may actually be a compliment)

If I missed any, let me know, but the above list sums it up for me. Trust me, I'm not the only American (no matter what my sex, race and age) who was spooked by all this nonsense. This nation has not turned into just moochers. In fact, the majority of people on food stamps work. Welfare has not cost us a trillion dollars in the last year. President Obama is not Satan, he is not going to take away everyone's guns, he isn't going to make white people slaves to black people, he isn't going to bring in the UN or Illuminati to take over the country, the world and five other solar universes - for God's sake, Republicans, ditch the conspiracy theories, kick the extreme right faction of this country to the curb, stop the crazy, and come back to reality! Or don't - but you can forget Americans ever voting for a Republican president again if you keep this shit up. Just sayin'

*end rant*

Now, about the riding...I've been on my bike. 60 miles, 50 miles, 30 miles (multiple choice), road and dirt. Photos below are from some of the many rides I've been on of late with the wonderful companions I cherish as friends:

All of this riding has been over the last two months. I'm pushing to get back to my former riding self...I now have a century planned on my birthday - yay, a goal!!

a perfect day

2012-09-23T16:50:00.003-07:00

Well, that was that. I came on here last weekend, whined a little (lot) and put a plea out to my friend and former "carrot." In return, I received some fantastic, supportive encouragement (including some tough ((tough)) love) and a "weigh in" from my friend whom I've missed (Brandy). Boom...I'm back at it (on the bike, I mean). Okay, not "boom" but certainly no whimper either.

Before I get to the riding, let me share my utter glee over witnessing the Endeavour fly above Los Angeles on Friday. I am not a fan of cutting down trees, mind you, but I understand the importance of having Los Angeles win the right to adopt one of these shuttles. The Endeavour may encourage more tourism along with a certain science/technology cool to this city for centuries to come. So...I welcome the little bird. And I only say "little" since she did arrive on the back of Big Bird (aka 747 jumbo jet). Let me just say, it was a sight to behold.

Now, to this weekend's ride. Glorious. I wasn't in my element (being as overweight as I am, no surprise here), but the elements were in me. I rode along the Pacific Coast, heavy in my pedaling, light in my mood, happy (and grateful) to have the stellar company I had rolling alongside me. I love Linda, Herb, Bob and Tim. Love them. They made yesterday's ride all the more meaningful. By myself, I'd have never have laughed as much, rode as hard, nor noticed the dolphins playing in the surf (Linda's eye caught that). I'll say again...glorious.

We started from Neptune's Net and rode north to the Ventura Harbor and back. It's 53 miles pretty much on the nose, in case you wondered. Those are pretty much flat miles, but you rarely stop pedaling, and rarely is there an absence of headwinds (in either direction). Nor is there an absence of scenic bliss. Even along Port Heuneme Road, there is beauty - strawberry fields, tractors and just endless green (this time of year). So, while pushing the road before you, there is much to keep your mind occupied and off the effort of endless pedaling. Perfect ride, if you ask me.

My ride time? 3.25 hours (total time, 4.15. Not too shabby). And I felt that familiar high of pushing through the headwinds, catching up to the boys, slowing to wait for another rider, heart pounding in my left ear one minute, my heart singing in my right ear the next. Exactly the kind of ride I have been longing for of late. At the end of it, my legs felt the miles under them, but by today, they'd recovered. This old bird still has some wing left in her...I just have to repeat it next week to keep the momentum. And that is exactly what I plan to do.

Here are some pretty pictures for those who might be interested...

Heading north, 7:30am...

told me he was "tired"...yeah, right...

fog a bit along the coast, but it was warm...

we followed the arrow...

Herbie leads the pack...

so nice to have him and Linda along...

yes, I was so there...

cousins in the distance...

She hit it hard all day...

Serious Tim...

Serious Bob...

Love this section by the planes...

Strawberry fields...

not so serious Tim...

no...it never, ever, ever gets old...

Not so serious Bob leading the pack...

not a fan of this bridge, not sure why, though, as I've yet to fall in!...

Passing The Rock...

tourist...

someone waited...

decisions, decisions...

yes, that beautiful, pinch me...

My fearless companion...

a closer view...

All in all...a perfect day. May there be many more to come, as 2012 is not over yet.

I could use a little Brandy

2012-09-16T14:58:00.002-07:00

I know, I know...hiatus, right? Well, I'm on hiatus from hiatus - how's that?

Truthfully, this blog has just about run its course. The reason being is that I originally created it for my sister to read, for her to hear all about my California adventures without my having to tell her (with my continuous loss of memory and time constraints, long phone calls have proven a challenge). Honestly, though, in all of four years, she's read this blog maybe three times. Not blaming her (she's got better things to do) but you can see how the outcome might not warrant the effort? Well, that, and I think I've "jumped the shark" more than once in the last two years with all of my sad-sack, pathetic, mojo missing confessions. The purpose for this blog went MIA about two years ago...so what's the point?

My main focus has been cycling because cycling is what I love to do, what I think defines me and what has brought me a shitload of happiness. Until recently...

I'm not going to expound beyond that, except to say - I miss Brandy. You may not know who she is as I've only brought her up on here all of once (as memory serves) but Brandy is special. Brandy is younger than me (by like 7 years), knock dead gorgeous, thin (even when she thinks she isn't) and intuitively, unabashedly competitive (something I downplay to anyone who will listen but then will admit secretly, I wish I was more).

You must be competitive to ride a bike. With others, with yourself (mostly with yourself), competition motivates and inspires. Without it, you might as well...ride a motorcycle (or not). Pedaling is exercise, exercise is work and the pay-off is (should be) rewarding. The freedom it brings is exhilarating and limitless. But there is a stiff price to pay. If you keep your "cycling fitness" strong and competitive (i.e. ride all the fricking time and push yourself past your comfort zone), you can enjoy the luxury of fucking off from time to time. If you do not, you're screwed (sound familiar?) Thus, competing to best yourself (or, pass every possible rider as you power up some mountain pass) is the surest fire way to victory...and/or an endorphins-filled high, whatever your drug may be. I've never been victorious, but, man, have I been high!

I met Brandy back in 2006 on an organized ride in Joshua Tree. She, and her then best friend, Tiffanie, were not only refreshing to me but fun as hell. They, like me, were free-falling in their 30's (Tiffanie and I are the same age; Brandy was on the edge of 30). We hit it off and, I can say with full glee, Brandy's breasts are the only female breasts I've ever groped in my life. Read into that whatever you may, but there is a very good story behind it, one that would play beautifully in a movie had a camera been present.

Brandy (on the right) and me in 2007 - at the start of the Butterfield Double Century

Back then, Brandy was married. But by 2007, she was no more and, instead, involved with an endurance cyclist whom, at the time, I couldn't stand. He was arrogant, abrasive and...competitive. Now, without going into too much detail, I will simply state that I think he was both good and bad for Brandy. Regardless, they are no longer together and she is now married to another sweet man. I have remained friends with Brandy and with her ex and don't discredit either (relationships are hell, I tell ya). But for sake of this entry, I will focus on the time she spent with the endurance rider.

It was during that time that Brandy became badass. She went from recreational rider to a very accomplished double-century rider. She worked at it, trained (with the help from her ex) and pushed in ways that I never have. She and I spatted back then (openly on BikeForums) but never truly lost touch. Brandy pissed me off so badly in 2007 after the Solvang Double Century (one I rode with 3 double century virgins) when she posted on the forums that she'd passed us so easily while riding with the ex. I (almost) hated her, but not because she'd passed me (and my friends) but because she'd used this knowledge to give her a competitive edge, something I've never understood, let alone mastered.

You see, Brandy used that to fuel her inner cyclist to far greater heights than I have mine. Mind you, my inner cyclist is brave, bold and willing, but she, like me, will take the road most traveled when all is said and done. Although I pushed my limits during the year I rode my most daunting miles, I never pushed beyond them. And for that reason alone, I envied Brandy - who'd not only pushed beyond her limits, she'd elevated herself to a standard of elite athlete, one who doesn't compromise with weakness.

Now, I'll admit here, I don't know what Brandy went through to get there. And given her split from her ex and, most disconcerting, her complete abandonment of cycling, not all was sweat and glory on her journey to athletic success. There is more to the story than I know (certainly) and a whole perspective I've likely missed. But from my little street corner to hers, I still have a vision of that beautiful brunette easily passing me while flashing a warm (yet competitive) smile as if to say, "catch my wheel, bitch...if you think you can." And that, that, that....is the Brandy I miss.

Why? - you ask. Because, as mad as she made me then, now - I could use a little Brandy. She might actually piss me off enough to ride my gawddim bike.

Thing is...I've got to somehow convince her to ride hers.

Speaking of, I rode today. My company was stellar, my effort was solid...but my heart just wasn't in it.

in action...

the man ran 10 miles yesterday, by the way...

Along Chandler, early morning...

Lots of other riders out...

Silhouette...

signs...

He makes it look so easy, doesn't he?...

path...

met a friend and her dogs along the way...this pooch I want to steal...

on the way to Burbank, caught the empty 5 freeway...

Downtown Burbank...

Brandy, can you help a girl out here?

2012-09-09T09:40:00.001-07:00

no, you're just being lazy

2012-08-26T18:37:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start this entry off with - don't ever call me lazy. Please. Even if I am lazy (and I am), just don't do it.

Bob? You know - my favorite triathlete friend? He called me lazy. He's lucky to be alive today. And I'm lucky to have him as a friend (really lucky).

Here's how it all went down:

Yesterday, I was going to just ride by myself cause I'm feeling like a bloated goat these days and can't pedal faster than I could likely just walk any distance. However, Bob and Tim wanted to join. Tim ended up unable to (feeling under the weather), so that left Bob.

Bob has been riding, not only on the weekend but also every Monday night. He does "The Hill Party." I'm sure you know exactly what that is...hills, lots of them. He's already freaky strong on a bike (more so than I will ever truly tell him or he will drop me to go find a fast crowd to chase). But "The Hill Party" is only making him super-freaky-deaky strong. His riding with me isn't challenging - well, unless you consider that he has my mouth to contend with.

heading out into perfect riding weather...

Bob so totally smoked her! (snicker)...

First off, I was late to roll at 7:30am. I was down asking to borrow his tire pump at 7:30 on the nose (cause I need a new one and, for what reason I couldn't tell you, I keep not buying one). But we didn't roll until 7:35. This has been my M.O. for awhile and Bob's getting fed up with it.

"You need to be down here ready to roll AT 7:30am. 7:30am was ROLL time and you know that. You used to be on time."

"I was looking for a glove to fit my hurt hand," I told him (which was true).

"Why didn't you do that last night?"

As if it wasn't obvious - "I didn't think of it last night." I said this as if it carried weight.

"No, you're just being lazy," he shot back. And with those five words he lit a bonfire under my ass.

I didn't go riding like a beast or anything, but I certainly didn't quit the ride either, and inside I was seething. Not because Bob said it, but because it is true. I am lazy. I've been lazy. I don't jump out of bed with enthusiasm anymore to go pedal my worries away. Instead, I ooze out of bed...like lava.

Part of it is that my experiment didn't work. Boot camp (although something I think fantastic and am continuing) didn't turn me into the disciplined athlete I thought it would. Instead, it just reinforced that one should be weight lifting in lieu of spending hours on a bike. Please don't think that I've adopted that new philosophy, but it did make me question my fitness. After all, I've only gotten fatter over the last few years, not thinner, and I've lost muscle not gained it - all during the time that I rode a bike more than anything else. But what is it that they say (whomever "they" are)? - you have to balance cardio with weight lifting with stretching with rest to create the perfect cross-training scenario that leads to a lean physique and overall superior level of fitness. I don't know about you, but finding the time to stretch, lift, run, ride, rest, recover, and do it all over again is a challenge!

that's the "quite dicking around" look...

Now, back to yesterday. I needed a good ride. The Rose Bowl route (which used to be easy for me) is now monumental. Yup...I admit it. I couldn't anymore climb up Stunt at present than I could run a marathon. I've hit rock bottom (pretty much) with respect to cycling. Other than selling my bike, I'm not all that far from the folks I know who don't ride at all anymore. Hey, more power to them if they've found something else they love more and makes them more happy than spending huge chunks of time on two wheels. For me...I still love riding my bike, I just can't do it like I could before. So, if I don't ride, what the hell do I do? (I told Bob yesterday, at a particularly sad moment, that I should take up knitting.)

By the way, not only am I "lazy" about being on time for a ride anymore, I'm also woefully unprepared. I ran out of time to eat breakfast yesterday (I decided to make avocado pudding yesterday morning when I should have been eating breakfast and dressing to ride - don't ask why as I don't even like how it turned out). I ran out the door not fueled, chased Bob's wheel (good grief, even when he's coasting, he's freaky fast), and damn near bonked on the "easy" climb up Verdugo Blvd. toward the bowl. Actually, I damn near puked but I had nothing in my stomach, so I just dry-heaved instead.

where the fun began...

yeah, yeah...I was there...

When I caught up to Bob, he knew something was wrong. "You okay?" he asked. I just nodded. "No, you're not. You should have eaten breakfast." He didn't add, "but you were too lazy to eat breakfast, weren't you?" - but I knew he was thinking it.

Luckily, we stopped at the little food mart (our normal stop where the sweet Israeli owner tells me he loves me and the I'm what a woman should look like and then asks me to marry him....every single time we stop there). I bought a sugar filled nasty drink and a bar. I'm not eating refined sugar these days but I was desperate to restore my blood sugar or I would have had to have forfeited the ride. And even though Bob offered me an out at that point, I forced the drink down. My strategy worked and my climb up hospital hill on Foothill was better than I expected.

taking Foothill to the bowl; my preferred route...

at the Rose Bowl...

Bob in the zone...

lane separation not quite working here...

although, this definitely brought a smile to my face whether they are in the right lane or not!...

From that point, we got a sweet downhill all the way to the bowl, rested a bit and then climbed back out through Descanso. I know this route so well, honestly you could blind-fold me and I'd find my way. I made it to Montrose without anymore whining, happy to see City Hall's patio open. We grabbed a table and ate lunch. Here, Bob took it easy on me.

"You weren't all that late," he admitted.

"No, I was. You're right. I should be on time. It used to piss me off all to hell when cyclists would show up late to a ride and now I'm doing it. So, I promise I'll be on time from now on." He also made me promise that twice a week I will go to the gym to ride the spin bike (either with a class or without) even if I have to forgo one day of boot camp to do it. I can live with that. I can put in a good 30-45 minutes on a spin bike just listening to my iPod.

After lunch, it was downhill to Riverside Drive. This part sucked, always does. The wind tunnel across the valley was in full force. I tried to hang on Bob's wheel but kept dropping off it. Of course, I was fatigued at that point and just looking forward to finishing. I figured we'd get 48 miles, but we ended up with 50. Bob will tell you 49.18 miles, but I'm telling you it was 50. Besides, I rode down the block to Bob's truck to bid him farewell and then rode back to my place from there. It was 50.

heading home...

almost all down hill (or flat) back...

Now, I have to keep two promises.

On another note - the USADA can go suck ass as far as I'm concerned. Lance Armstrong may be an A-hole (as rumor has it), a bad sport, full of himself and a cheater (doper), but that does not mean that the USADA acted appropriately or within the law. They didn't chase the man when he was bringing much needed attention to the sport. Nor did they follow the statute of limitations required by law for most any other governing organization. And lastly, they let the team members who claimed he (and they) doped continue on their merry way just so they could bring the old dog down. Really?

Well, I say, fuck 'em. Lance Armstrong may have doped, certainly, but so did EVERYONE else. Yes, Lance had more $$$$ to do it and perhaps that isn't fair, but when is life fair? And really, of all the dopers, he was the strongest rider. Period. The USADA did, in fact, go on a witch hunt and that is more a wrong in my eyes than the fact that one star athlete doped with all the other star athletes. The USADA has done more harm to the sport as far as I'm concerned and the fall out may very well not lead to a "cleaner sport" but a less popular one for sure. I'm not condoning doping by any means, but I refuse to be amused at the fall of a very talented athlete, one who has inspired so many cyclists, including myself. I will continue to wear the "Livestrong" bracelet, because the message is more important than the man.

My two cents for what it's worth...

I just can't keep a fist

2012-08-19T17:33:00.003-07:00

It's the middle of August. Damn. Where did 2012 go?

I was at Pier 1 yesterday when I noticed a young couple shopping alongside me. They were holding various Halloween decorations in each of their four hands.

"Noooooooooooooo!" I (fake) hollered at them. "It's way too soon!"

"I know," the man said sheepishly. "But as fast as the months fly by these days, we thought we'd get a jump start on it."

I know what he means, but that is not going to stop me from going ape-shit in a grocery store the minute I hear Christmas music playing. You and I both know that will be in less than two months (sigh).

Anyway, I didn't come on here to bemoan the ever sped-up passage of time. I'm more here to...um...well...blog. You know?...write? I clearly have lost the desire to do so. Nothing new. I mean it's not like my desire to ride has been any better and the two do go hand in hand (for me, anyway).

Maybe I should play catch-up. Let's see...the last time I was here, I was telling the drama of my visit home on the Fourth of July, when Mom fell. She's okay by the way (her head is all pretty much healed). Actually, better than okay. I think her fall might have scared her. When I called her this last Thursday, she was out of breath from exercising on her stationery bike (the one Dad bought her for her birthday a few years ago; the one I tease her non-stop about for only using for four minutes a day). I was so proud of her and careful not to piss her off by playing my usual game of "pick-prod-poke." She hates it when I tease her about exercise. But you see, this is where she and I share no common ground. My mother hates to sweat and exercise is a four letter word to her. Dad, on the other hand and like me (or me like him?), loves to get sweaty stinky, out of breath and endorphin filled. Sadly, I don't think Mom feels any endorphins when exercising...and I will admit, that must suck.

Speaking of endorphins and sweat - I finished the "on ramp" boot camp, 12 week program a couple of weeks ago. I had planned to come on here and write all about it but I got into a funk. Not because of the boot camp and certainly not because of my graduation work-out finale! I finished it - I did a Murph! It's a workout routine that was created by a young soldier who died back in 2005 (very sad). His workout (to keep his troops in tip-top shape) was/is: 1 mile run, 100 pull ups, 200 push-ups, 300 squats, another 1 mile run.

Some of those Crossfit folks out there like to claim that the Murph is a "Crossfit" workout. Bullshit (will get to that in a minute). It's a BOOT CAMP workout. Anyway, I did it. It took me 1 hour and 17 minutes, but I finished. The push-ups and the running were the hardest for me. Believe it or not, my calf is still not 100% and I feel it biting at me when running/jogging. As for the push-ups, they are just painful.

I felt very proud to finish, mind you. I did it and stuck it out for 12 weeks. Now? I'm in the on-going boot camp. Difference is, now it's completely up to me, they don't take roll-call (so show up or be a loser, loser), and you get not one, but three workout options. I took a week off in between and, due to some stomach issues, missed last Monday. Wednesday and Friday of last week were tough, but I'm now in full swing. On Friday, I did 150 "wall balls" in 16 minutes and 39 seconds. My last time was 18 minutes and 43 seconds, so I have improved! I will continue boot camp in order to keep making positive gains.

Which brings me to - boot camp is NOT Crossfit. Crossfit by the way, is just a brand (Google it) based on programs created by some police academies (who clearly used moves already being used in military boot camps). The whole layperson Crossfit is really just a way for gyms to make more money marketing something already being done, in boot camp. The gym owners can send their "instructors" and/or "trainers" to a one day training course to be certified. Then, those trainers can ask members to perform moves that have been around for decades (hello, boot camp and weight-lifting) inside of the gym (in lieu of outside in a park or stadium), make it competitive (and testosterone filled, if you ask me) and act as if it's all something brand-spanking new and evolutionary (are you kidding me?).

I am not a fan of Crossfit. If you are reading this and Crossfit is your religion (which, I'm sorry, but it does come across kinda cult-like), I mean no offense. But seriously, Boot Camp has been around much longer than Crossfit. Please don't be fooled into thinking that Crossfit is better. It's not. In fact, one could argue that it is far more dangerous than boot camp, as members tend to encourage other members to lift weights far heavier than they are ready to lift. Whereas in most boot camps (which used to be all the rage before Crossfit got branded), form is taught first and members are asked to compete only with themselves (for the most part; I'm sure there has been a boot camp or two that has participants compete with one another).

Also, please don't confuse the primal diet with the paleo diet. Primal is all about eating whole foods, mostly vegetables with meat (preferably grass fed, organic, range free, etc.), healthy fats (butter, olive oil, coconut oil, nut butters, lard), fruits, no grains (unless cheating), and limited dairy (or none, if you have an intolerance). Paleo is similar (certainly) but it seems more focused on meat than vegetables, some fats and no grains or dairy. I don't have a problem with Paleo specifically, but the diet followed to the letter doesn't appeal to me - most likely because every "Crossfit-ter" I have ever met (or read online) espouses the Paleo Diet like it's the bible. Crossfit and Paleo just seem to go hand in hand, both in severity and "brandishment" (I know...not a real word). They feel fad-like, at least to me.

Me? I eat food, preferably whole food. I do like the Primal Blueprint Diet (and principles) but I will never state that I am eating "Primal." (sheesh) I write all this on here, cause it's become a pet peeve of mine that every time I say I'm participating in boot camp (with all its kettle balls, burpees, wall balls and such - all of which have been around for many, many years), I get the predictable, "Oh, so you must do Crossfit and eat Paleo" Uh...that would be, no.

So, about that cycling...the reason I even have this little blog, my riding my bike!

(crickets)

I've been riding a little here a little there but nothing worth sharing. Until yesterday! Yesterday, I did what all cyclists are bound to do, and in fact, superstition has it, they will do at least every 10 years...I crashed. Yup, I took a fall from Nellie (my mountain bike) to the pavement at roughly 10 mph. There is nothing cool or interesting about this pavement dive (no, it didn't happen because I was trying to save a child from being hit by a bus). It was a simple one, and it happened within a block from home. Ready?

I was on my bike, riding roughly 10 mph. My bike wheel hit a "fissure" (deep crack in the pavement), one I didn't see. I had a bag (with new running shoes in it) on the front right handle bar (a small bag, but clearly size doesn't matter in these instances). When my wheel hit the fissure, I went left at an unnatural angle. I tried to correct the wheel, but with the small bag on the handle bar (which immediately got wedged between my knee and the top tube), I went sailing over the handle bars to the right and into pavement. You may call me a dumbass for riding with a bag on my handlebars (don't do that...ever) but just don't do it to my face. I will punch you if you do...with my left fist. My right fist is screwed at present. Actually, the whole hand is, but I don't think anything is broken.

Today, while riding with Bob, I showed him my right hand in all it's bruised, swollen glory. "Are you sure you didn't break anything?" he asked.

"Are there even bones in this area?" I pointed to the far outer right side, where it's the most swollen.

"Yes."

"Oh, well, then I don't know if anything is broken, but I can make a fist. I just can't keep a fist."

Don't ask me how I rode today, cause I don't know how. Between my hand and my elbow, my knee, my ankle and foot, and my boob (yes, my right boob, the slightly bigger one), I was in a lot of pain. But ride I did! - 28 miles. Hey, that may be chump change for the hard core crowd out there. But for me....it's better than nothing.

Pics or it didn't happen? Fine, see below (note, I did not nor will I take a picture of my boob and post in on the internet, so you'll just have to take my word for it):

this was just after the pavement dive - hand is already starting to swell (as is wrist):

and this is today, after riding. The swelling had gone down over night, but after the ride, after I showered, it ballooned back up again...

I tried to get a good shot of the elbow, but it's impossible. I can't catch the true bruising going on - I wing-dinged it hard! But it's not broken. (also, if you turn this photo sideways, it kind of looks like my breast, minus the scrapes)...

My knee got nicked too! (sorry, I tried to get a good photo of the ankle but have given up since it already has a gross scar on it from my biking accident when I was 3 yrs old)...

my sweet buddy, who rode with me even after I threatened to cancel...

On the LA River Bike Path heading to Los Feliz - needless to say, it was a flat, easy ride today since I was injured and pathetic...

By the way, the bike path is truly lovely at present and we think the city may be sprucing it up in spots...

Today was one notch below a recovery ride for him...

Okay, that's it. I got nothing else. I'm just going to keep trying to get the cycling back. I figure my crash yesterday should keep me now "crash free" for at least a good 16 years. Why?- you ask. Cause a person is only supposed to crash every ten years. I crashed four years ago (on a bike path in Ojai) and then yesterday. Thus, I should be given six years for good behavior and just stinking bad luck. That's my thinking anyway.

Lastly, I will be back on here more often. This week, in fact, I'm going to pop back on to promote something for women cyclists. I didn't want to do it in this post for obvious reasons, but it's a good one. Till then, keep the rubber side down! (old expression, but certainly worth remembering)

perhaps, I shouldn't have said, "bring it"

2012-07-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's quiet in here...and there's a tin-like echo. "Hello? Hello? Hello?"

No, I'm not talking to myself about my empty skull. I'm talking about this blog. I feel it's been forever since I've been on here to write or even thought about writing for that matter. Really, it's only been about three weeks, but those three weeks were a long, long time.

My trip home to see the family this year was one I'd rather just forget. It's not that I didn't have some good visiting with the folks, but it was just a tad too morose. For one thing, my grandmother has finally gotten old, really old. She's 93 and unhappy. I would be too if I couldn't walk and was living in a nursing home (where she isn't living due to children who don't love her, but where she is due to various falls in which she was injured; she needs the care a nursing home can provide). In most ways, I'm selfish and wish she'd be here forever. But a tiny part of me cannot ignore the inevitable (especially after this last visit). Reluctantly, I will admit that in lieu of her feeling lousy for a few more drawn out years, it might be better for her to die peacefully in her sleep...the way we all wish to go when our time comes.

Speaking of death, we attended my Uncle Freddy's memorial/funeral while in Missouri. I never met my father's brother except for when he saw me at an age I can't remember much of anything. I also don't remember ever meeting his daughters, my cousins (a pity). I was less disturbed over his being laid to rest, though, than I was over my grandmother's tears. A parent should never lose a child, it's just not fair. Yet, there was my 93 year-old grandmother, sitting in her wheel chair in God-awful heat at his grave site, crying. Not a happy sight.

The following morning, I rode bikes with my dad and Uncle Johnny. I enjoyed that part of the visit to Missouri, although that joy was brief. After bidding Dad's side farewell, we headed to Mom's side. It was July 4th. We were all looking forward to the barbecue at my Aunt Patt's house. It was on that day that everything went truly kaput.

Mom, who walked out back to the pool where she could visit with some of our relatives back there, took a head dive off the porch, landing on a stone/concrete step. We aren't sure if she missed the top step somehow or slipped on something, but she's never been one to fall (something more of what Dad or I would do; we tend to be the accident prone ones). You can imagine my shock and then terror when my aunt busted through the back door, dripping wet in her baby blue one-piece, screaming "call 911! call 911! Dee's fallen and hit her head!"

Fortunately, Mom is okay (Phew! I repeat, phew!). But from her lying on the ground bleeding profusely from her head, unconscious, to being "okay" was not a good time for anyone. Mind you, I'm not blaming Mom. On the contrary, her accident and the realization that the outcome could have been tragic, has made me appreciate her more. Kind of silly, huh? You have to wait until something like this happens and think someone you love with all your heart might not be around anymore before you truly appreciate that person and are grateful to have him/her, truly grateful. I would have been flattened on the highway like road-kill had my mother passed away from a simple fall. We were just lucky that day, is all.

"I don't understand," she kept repeating the day following the accident and night spent in the ER and hospital. "I don't fall. I've never fallen."

"Any one of us can fall, Mom. Hell, I trip all the time. It's a wonder I haven't busted my head open. It's not your fault." I stopped short of joking that perhaps she should wear a helmet when walking, like I do when riding a bike. She can take that joke now (and even laugh, perhaps), but then was not the time.

"I know, but still. I don't remember falling at all. I don't remember the emergency room. Although, I do remember the ambulance and the man telling me we were about to go over bumps."

I haven't had the heart to tell her since that the man in the ambulance didn't say much of anything. I know, cause I was in the ambulance with her. It was the male nurse at the hospital who told her she was about to go over a few bumps as he was loading her onto the elevator to take her up to her "suite" for the night.

Truth is, she doesn't remember any of the bad parts (the fall, the coming-to, the pain of actually falling, etc.), and for that, I'm grateful too. She did, however, earn bragging rights for the way she looked. You could have guessed that one of us had beaten the hell outta her with her two, swollen black eyes and enormous hematoma over her left eye socket (which was fractured plenty). She hit on her left side so hard, it reverberated throughout her whole skull and hurt the right eye as well (and her teeth and jaw!). She also broke her wrist. But her brain is a-okay, and that's the most important thing. She will fully recover too without having to have painful surgery to repair the eye socket or wrist (will say it again...grateful, grateful, grateful)

I flew back two days after the accident feeling kinda guilty (although, she does have JT and Dad to take care of her). I haven't felt good sense. It's that stomach-full-of-dread thing, like some other shoe is going to fall. Only this time, no one is going to recover. I realize that is the kind of thinking that brings about negativity, so I'm trying to shake it loose and get a happy spring back in my step.

Since returning, I've been in boot camp. I have not lost my enthusiasm, certainly, but I did lose some of my gains...er...gained some of my loses. Whatever. Now, I think I'm evening back out again. I have two more weeks of the torture before I "graduate" from the "on-ramp" program and start the on-going one. It's more flexible (Monday, Wednesday and Friday; no attendance is taken), so less pressure. I could use that, honestly. I would also like to say I completed it. Completion is dedication. I am not anywhere near as thin and buff as I'd hoped by now (I thought I'd look like that chick, Jullian, from The Biggest Loser, but...um...not exactly). I am, however, stronger. I climb stairs with ease and have far more upper body strength. Most importantly, I've developed confidence. After completing 100 burpees (click here, if you don't know what those are) in a row last week, I feel I can do just about anything.

My calf has pretty much healed, by the way. Although I still run all gimpy-like. My running has always been just one level above suck. Now, it's just fail. Doesn't matter, I tell myself. At least I haven't quit!

As for riding my bicycle. I have been. Of course, I rode with Dad when I was home (I love to ride with him and if he lived out here, I'd do so more often). Since getting back, I rode with Bob two weekend's ago and with Herb this past weekend. I wasn't all that into blogging, so I didn't bother posting photos.

I've had a change of heart. Here are a few (yes, I'm still at it and, no, it never gets old to me!):

Bob and I rode down Ventura, heading west - a change of direction...

He just keeps getting stronger on the bike, while I?...sigh...

mountain biking takes the blues from me and puts them above me...

I just had to take a photo of this lovely couple. I don't think I've seen two hikers in love walking along hand in hand, but these two did - and they were at the top almost as fast as it took Herb and me to get there!...

Mandeville Canyon is the most populated by bikers/hikers, but it was well worth it since it's so pretty (there is also lots of shade, although not pictured here)...

Herb brought the sun with him, isn't that nice of him? (snicker)...

Okay, this is funny. My left leg and Herb's right leg got totally dirty. Yet, we were riding in the same direction - how is that possible?...

this guy was hanging out under my car back by my right rear wheel. Thank goodness another rider spotted him for my sake and his sake. I'd have hated to have run over him...

So, that's the skinny on my shenanigans of late. I'm hoping to get a really good ride in this weekend (maybe even two). Hopefully, all is back to normal and the game is back on. Boy...2012 has been one hell of a wing-dinger. Perhaps, I shouldn't have said, "bring it" back on January 1st.

fueled by hot air

2012-07-02T07:51:00.000-07:00

I am a heat weenie. I repeat, I.am.a.heat.weenie. Might as well state that upfront before I bitch, whine and complain about Fried Chicken Land. That's where I currently am for the Fourth holiday. I come here every year either now or in the winter. It's a toss up: a gazillion degrees with humidity or sub teeth chattering degrees with sneet (that's a mix of snow and sleet - it's not pretty). I'm not a fan of Christmas drama so I choose 4th of July...which has its own brand of drama, typically fueled by hot air as much as it is by hot tempers.

Any o' how, I'm here. I've only yelled at Dad once. He plays a game with me where he sees just how hot he can keep the house before I explode. He found out last night that it's above 80 degrees. I think it's reasonable that the house temperature not go above 80 (which is still stifling to my now very much thinned California blood). Guess what? Mom agrees with me. Yup, after I yelled at Dad, slammed the bedroom door and swore I was going to a "fucking hotel!", Mom came in and jumped in bed with JT and me. We were watching TV. She hung out with us. She never does that. It was delicious. I don't get to see my mother enough and sometimes it does really bring me down.

This morning, Dad and I were fine. We have a trip planned up to Missouri to see my Grandmother and put my uncle Fred's ashes to rest. He died in Texas, God rest his soul, but Grammy wanted him buried in the same graveyard in which I assume she wishes to be buried. So, my father and all his siblings had Fred's body exhumed, cremated and brought across state lines for a "proper" burial. Grammy doesn't even know yet, so Dad is currently on his way up there to help break the news to her. I can only imagine it's not going to go well.

I know all this sounds terribly morbid (and it is) but the visit isn't going to be all gloom and doom. I'm going so I can see Grammy. She's 93. As much as I may want her to live forever, forever is not one of her goals. In fact, I'm worried she's not even aiming for 94. Can't blame her - 93 is a pretty good long time to be here and she just isn't feeling all that great anymore. She's still so very pretty though, and I can't wait to kiss her gingerly on her fragile porcelain cheek.

Aside from that, I will see my mother's side of the family. We'll alternate between sitting in my aunt's large air conditioned house and hanging by the pool, eating watermelon and Lays potato chips (with onion dip) while slapping mosquitoes. I'll sneak whiskey out of my uncle's liquor cabinet. I say "sneak" cause I just don't want to hear how I'm drinking too much for wanting a mint julip (or two) on the 4th of July. I'm 42 years of age, but when I come home, I might as well be 19 all over again. If only I looked 19 all over again - then, I wouldn't mind so much.

Dad and I plan to ride up in Missourie tomorrow (in 100 degree weather no less) with my uncle John. He's my father's younger brother and they both are still in amazing shape. They'll likely drop me, but I have a really good excuse. I'm a heat weenie.

I used that excuse yesterday and the day before when I rode with Dad (my favorite thing to do when I come home). Here are photos in case you'd like to see what Fried Chicken Land looks like this year. It hasn't rained here in a long time, so there's a drought going on. It's not as green this year, but it's still real pretty if not too damn hot.

although not as green as normal, still lush in the summer...

the road is so hot, it draws these guys out...

one of my favorite stretches of road...

my very own John Wayne, in even better shape than last year!...

barn...

my favorite barn, actually...

yes, me and my goopy white zinc paste was there...

farmland with cows somewhere in there (moo)...

the roads here are smooth as glass with so little debris - a cyclist's dream!...

corn...

telling me where he hid the body (snicker)...

you may not be able to tell, but it's close to 100 degrees at this time of day (9 am!)...

He's a trim little thing, isn't he?...

arsty fartsy photo down by the Cumberland River...

I would not swim in that as the Moccasins have to be out in full force this year...

somebody's husband slept in...

little to no traffic...

sigh - he is still just a kid...

let's play this southern style...

he had no idea when I told him to smile for the picture (snicker)...

Okay, got to jump off, shower and dress for the trip to MO. Not looking forward to it, I'll admit. It's always a Tennessee Williams visit when you get the two clans together. And there is just never enough whiskey. But...to get the chance to hug Grammy, I'll gladly go.

P.S. No boot camp this week (clearly). Boot camp last week was brutal but I don't have time to report. I will say that my calf is healing (yay!), I've lost a solid 10 pounds (yay!), I'm putting a good five of it back on this visit I'm sure, but next week, I'll be back at it.

Happy 4th of July!

exactly what I needed

2012-06-24T15:46:00.001-07:00

What a difference a week makes...

Although I will never get last weekend back, my lack of riding and plentiful rest was exactly what I needed. Yes, I'm telling the truth! Also, for anyone curious, I was not kicked out of boot camp. In fact, I had nothing to fear. They were more than willing to let me sit on the sidelines last Monday as all my fellow boot campers learned the "proper" way to run (on the balls of one's feet and not one's heels - something I already do, albeit without grace).

I will admit that I was bummed not to participate that morning, but I was so unbelievably grateful to my sweet (and ever motivating) coaches for letting me continue. Boot camp is changing my life in ways I will never discuss on here. I'm a mess (as if that isn't obvious), but I'm changing, morphing actually, into a creature far more deserving of respect then the one I've been. And by that, I mean that I'm respecting my body, both with fitness and nutrition, better than I ever have in my 42 years of existence. I may not live to see 43 or I may live to 100. Either way, between now and then, I will love myself in action and not just words. Yes, boot camp has given me the tools and confidence to both say and do that.

By the way, Monday was the only day that I sat on the sidelines. Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, I participated. I busted my ass, actually, I just didn't run or jump. This does not mean I had it easier. Sometimes, modifications mean more work and more effort. I had to not only try and perform the exercises given to me, but to find a way to do so without further injury to my calf. This took thought, extra effort and humor. I think I burned more calories having to compensate than if I could have just done what everyone else was asked to do! (well, that's what I'm telling myself, anyway!)

My left leg is still swollen over a week later!...

er...I think the "minor" strain was a tad more - that there is the blood from my calf muscle tearing and then pooling in my foot. And that swollen ankle! - or shall I say, "cankle?"...

Did I mention that I just love my coaches? I'm serious. I've already given Coach Dave his praise (which he deserves). But I've not mentioned Coach Mandy (other than to describe how gorgeous she is) or Coach Liz much. Both are in their 20s and both are hotties, certainly. But that isn't their strong suits. They have smarts and wisdom too (and more so than you'd expect from two women of such tender years). I appreciate both and look forward to their motivating presences each week. They play off of Coach Dave (who has a wicked and wonderful dry sense of humor) and give him all kinds of shit. It's delicious to watch! I'm going to miss these three individuals when the "on ramp" program ends. It's going to bum me out, actually, and isn't something I'm looking forward to.

I mention all three, because they have been my "touchstone" with the calf injury. I'm not used to being injured and, given the fact that I have a freakishly high pain threshold, I don't often honor or respect the healing process. Fortunately, I had Coaches Dave, Mandy and Liz there in the last week to keep me from overdoing it and to offer amazing advice. I will forever be indebted to these individuals as I not only could participate, but I am healing too!

What did we do, you wonder? -

1. The "snatch press" - this is not easy for me, but I like them. It's taking a bar (with serious weight eventually) over my head in a "snap" or "snatch" kind of way. Look it up as there is simply no way to describe it.

2. The "snatch press" while squatting. I sucked at these but my calf kinda got in the way.

4. Kettle balls - 26 lbs on both arms with "torque" in the shoulders. I LOVED these. I'm actually crazy strong in some ways in my upper body and get high off of pushing my limits there.

Something I will state - the boot camp in which I participate, sponsored by my employer, is the safest out there (I'm willing to bet money on it). They show you proper form over and over, ad nauseum. The point of this is to (hopefully) prevent injury. I may have already stated this on here, but my calf strain was my fault and not the fault of my coaches or the program. They are extremely safety-conscious and I so respect them for that. After all, they have gazelles and elephants (that would be me) participating and they don't want anyone injured!

So, that's boot camp...but what about the riding??? You know, that thing I do on a stick with two wheels?... (big grin) Check out the photos below. They say more than I can...

Saturday with Debbie - 30 miles from home to HOME (a fantastic brunch spot in Silver Lake):

My most-ridden bike path (LA River Bike Path)...

She made me look good all morning...

The silver arche (much better for your health than the golden arches!)...

me in 20 years (and I write that with NO sarcasm -

recumbent bikes are awesome!)...

Sunday (today) with Bob - from home to Noah's Bagels in Burbank and back, and a lunch stop at Brats Brothers:

the man and his bike...computer...

too cute for words...

over the bridge in Burbank (the only "big" climb of the weekend)...

true meaning of "share the road"...

artsy fartsy bike love shot...

not being lascivious (at all) but look at them HUGE calves!...

yes...I was there (for both days!)

Both rides were just spins with almost no hills. My calf is still a mess and I will not be running next week (of that I'm convinced). But, I'm healing and happy and so fucking grateful! (yes, that language is necessary in this context!) I'm halfway through the 12 weeks of boot camp and nowhere near where I thought I'd be. Instead...I'm so, so, so much farther than I could have hoped for. This experiment has proven one of great benefit. ...bring it.

lesson learned

2012-06-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning is my favorite morning of the week. In a normal week, I'd be out riding my bicycle right this very minute, or hiking, or on rare occasions, having brunch with some friend or another. Today? I'm not doing any of the above. Instead, I'm just sitting on my ass on the couch staring out my balcony's sliding glass doors into what is soon to be a gloriously sunny day.

I've worried in the last few weeks over my insanely challenging schedule of boot camp combined with riding on the weekends. I've felt the strain both physically and emotionally (when trying to explain to others why I'm so weak on the bike). I had even come to the conclusion last weekend that I'd cut back and I did. I rode last Saturday (will get to that in a minute) and took Sunday off as a rest day. I did this as my friends were warning me of possible injury if I pushed it too hard.

Apparently, I did too little too late.

Boot Camp this past week was the most challenging it's been. We lifted heavier weights (when performing dead lifts) and learned new exercises that involved deep squats. I can't squat worth shit, something my coaches have noticed and have been trying to help me improve. Apparently, my calves are not as limber as they should be to perform the perfect squat. Coach Dave has given me stretches (that I've been doing religiously) and has encouraged me to just keep trying.

What my coaches didn't know is that my calves are the most overused muscles in my body. I walk (and hike) on them, jog on them, jog up steps on them, walk up steps (sometimes two at a time) on them just to get to and from work daily and, last but far from least, I pedal on them for many hours at a time every single weekend I'm given the opportunity to do so.

If you'd asked me before this past Thursday if I thought I could possibly injure a calf, I'd have laughed at you. My calves, over any other part of my body (other than my mouth, I suppose) are my "powerhouse." They are sturdy and thick, cut when I'm thin and you can see them, and ever supportive. They have never given me so much as a tremble no matter how hard I've worked them. I've never jumped rope with fear, hopped over a boulder with trepidation, nor sprung out of bed lacking the confidence that my calves would be there to catch me.

This past Thursday, at boot camp, almost finished with a wonderful round of torture, my left calf (my weakest, I suppose, since my dominate leg is my right one) popped, literally. I was performing this exercise where one throws a 12 pound dyno ball after squatting very low, jumping up and then moving forward to retrieve the ball. Coach Dave instructed us (and demonstrated) on how to do this.

"After you throw the ball, go retrieve it and throw it again. I want good form on those squats." He then showed us. Naturally, when he threw the ball, it went halfway down the gymnasium. He then walked to retrieve the ball he'd thrown. He did not run nor did he tell us we had to run.

Can you guess what I did? I squatted, jumped, threw the ball and ran to retrieve it. I rather liked running to retrieve the ball as it rolled away from me. It felt good and was giving me a killer workout. In between all that squatting, throwing, jumping and running, I was doing chest lifts with a 35 pound bar and back pulls with 12 pound dumb bells. I was on fire! I wasn't tired at all and excited that I was doing so well.

I don't know if I hadn't ran if it wouldn't have happened or if I'd stretched better, warmed up more, ate a better breakfast, not ridden last Saturday, or not ridden at all during boot camp would I have finished that workout and gone on with my day as planned. I'll never know. What I do know is that a "pulled/strained" calf muscle is nothing I ever want to experience again.

Yup, after feeling that popping (and pain) in my left calf, I hollered out (instinctively?) and fell to the floor. Talk about drama (which I hate). Everyone froze for a good three seconds. Then, my coaches were by my side evaluating my situation. I wanted to cry and could feel the build up in the back of my throat (isn't it funny how the tears form in your throat and then move to your eyes?). But I squelched it and bit my lip. After all, I didn't want Coach Dave to see me blubbering away in self pity.

Coach Liz and Coach Dave got me over to a bench and ice on my calf right away. They then took a report and gave me all kinds of advice. Both looked at me with such pity, I knew that my calf was not going to just magically stop hurting - and hurt it did. It throbbed, actually. The only way to really describe it is to say that it felt like a never-ending charlie horse. I couldn't walk on it, but I managed to adopt a hobble (leg straight and way out to the side) that allowed me to leave the gymnasium on my own without the necessity of an ambulance ride (talk about way-too-much drama).

I was able to shower (while sobbing the whole time when no one could witness it), dress and call a co-worker to come get me. Due to one very sweet gal, I was able to secure two ace bandages and some ice. I was not able to elevate my calf, though, and I think that's not going to be in my favor overall. I stayed at work, missed a very important luncheon meeting, and headed to urgent care at 4pm.

I was seen rather quickly (great facility) by a female MD. I liked her right away as I could tell she had a sense of humor. I explained what happened and then asked her if she'd please just tell me that it would be healed by Monday so that I could continue with boot camp.

"Well, if I could tell you that," she said. "I'd not only be a doctor but a psychic as well." Her smile was warm but there was pity in her eyes too - not a good sign.

She had me stand and attempt to walk. I did my most impressive hobble and grinned like a performing monkey. She seemed somewhat impressed.

"You can put weight on it which means it's likely minor."

"How minor?" I kept grinning, chimpanzee-like.

She said nothing at first and instead felt the muscle and observed the swelling around my ankle. "You don't have any bruising on the calf which would have shown up by now and your foot hasn't turned purple. If it does, do not worry, it's just gravity and the blood pooling."

"Blood!" My grin faded.

"Yes. You've likely pulled your medial gastrocnemius," she said, while cupping the upper part of my calf. "This normally results in some tearing of the muscle. Yours appears minor, so with proper care, it shouldn't take too long to heal."

"How long?" I asked, my stomach gurgling.

"Hard to say, but likely a week if you are already able to put weight on it; two weeks if being conservative. Don't worry, it's very common. I see it all the time in all ages and levels of active individuals. It is especially common over the age of 35."

Usually, when I hear that something is common, I'm relieved. But given that I have to be able to walk by Monday for boot camp, I would have preferred that this be an uncommon injury with unusually high recovery rates - as in, "recovers over night."

The doctor gave me the same advice my coaches had and encouraged me to stay off it for the majority of the day for the next 72 hours. However, she encouraged me to keep hobbling and trying (gingerly) to walk on it if I don't experience pain. (It's not wise to completely rest a hurt muscle, by the way. You should try to move it to keep the blood flowing in it; depending on the severity of the injury, of course.) She then prescribed me Ibuprofen 600 and some muscle relaxers.

That was Thursday. Yesterday, I stayed home from work (much to my boss' chagrin, I'm sure, but I was instructed not to drive very far while on the drugs). I did hobble around, but mostly I slept. Those muscle relaxers are the world's greatest sleeping pills. If I've been lacking sleep, I made up for it yesterday!

Today? Improvement! I can actually walk without hobbling but very modified. There is still a sting in the calf and I don't want to exacerbate it, so my walking will remain timid. But I may go walk around the block and I'm definitely getting in the pool outside to do some water aerobics - something! I can't just sit on my ass all day long.

So, there you have it. My pitiful strained calf story. This too shall pass and I've already corresponded with the woman who runs the boot camp program where I work. If I cannot walk normal by Monday and my coaches deem me unable to continue with boot camp, I can come back in the next round (Fall) and finish. As hard as it is for me to swallow, I am someone who prides myself on being resourceful. If that happens, I will simply head to my gym and start learning how to use the equipment there to mimic what I've been doing at boot camp. I will also continue the stretches so that if I have to pick back up in the Fall, I won't be completely out of boot camp shape.

As for riding, I was told I could not go near a bike this weekend. That did not sit well with me, but I'm not stupid. Both Patsy and Nellie are covered and locked out on my balcony. I'm sure they are as bummed as I am since I had both a road and dirt ride planned for today and tomorrow. Sigh...could be worse, I suppose. And, lesson learned. Going forward and (assuming I can continue on Monday) until the end of boot camp, my riding on the weekends is going to be lighter with less miles. It will be temporary and simply so that I can give my body a chance to recover more than just one day a week.

Speaking of riding, I did ride last Saturday. I meant to write on it sooner, but haven't had a chance to pop on here. It was a great ride, with two good climbs, over by the Rose Bowl. I started out with Bob, Tim and Linda and ended with Herb, Linda and Vic. In case you want photos, I have those to share:

Chandler, early in the morning - such a great street to ride!

Linda joined again, yay!

Herb met us along Chandler - yay!

he was ready for anything in his Pink Floyd Jersey & matching socks...

Vic joined on Sonora - yay!

riding past my old work stomping grounds...

he wasn't sure he'd be up for the full ride, but he did just fine...

see that pigtail? - yes, I was there...

heading up the first steep part of Patrician Way...

I was the slowest one up, yet again...

Vic did great on this climb - his first time up it...

heading up Lida...

I love this particular climb...

heading home with happy companions...

If you've read this far, you obviously care about little ol' me (hi Dad!) - so please send some healing mojo my direction! I really want to pick back up on Monday with boot camp. Although I won't be able to jog or jump next week, I can do any upper body workout they give me. And, I can walk (a modification, certainly). However, if I'm still hobbled by Monday...

I'm going to just put that out of mind. I believe positive reinforcement is better than negative thinking.

but when will I get to ride my bike?

2012-06-04T20:20:00.001-07:00

It's Monday, start of a new week, and I'm beat (already). I had boot camp this morning and I have one more boot camp tomorrow morning before I get a rest day (not a moment too soon). We are now officially into Week Four and it's already been a doozie. Last week was no walk in the park either.

Last Thursday, after one way-too-short rest day on Wednesday, we were asked to sprint like bats-outta-hell for 50 meters in between performing chest pull-ups at a 45 degree angle from the ground, using metal rings attached to ropes attached to monkey bars. And we were told to do them with perfect form, from 5-15 reps each set for 15 minutes (which turned into what felt like 25 minutes).

If our form began to falter (i.e. our upper arms began to tremble and our lower backs were suddenly doing the work of pulling our chests through the two rings in lieu of our biceps) due to exhaustion, we were to drop the rings (without letting them swing into the noses of our fellow boot campers behind us) and go sprint those 50 meters; repeat. I tried so very hard to keep perfect form with my trembling arms, but could only make it to approximately 8-9 chest pulls each set and ended up having to sprint like a bat-outta-hell far more times than any bat-outta-hell should ever have to sprint...I damn near puked.

On Friday we were asked to perform dead-lifts in between running the stadium stairs, all 80 of them, up and down, up and down. We were to do this five times. I suffered this torture far better on Friday than I had on Thursday but that was only cause I couldn't feel the lower half of my body, or the upper half for that matter.

Today? Heh...I thought it was going to be "easy" (comparatively) when Coach Mandy announced what our "exercise" (torture) would be. First, we were told to jog twice around the track (or walk, then jog; I chose to jog). I am officially the slowest runner in the class. Yes, for real. Even those older and/or heavier than I am can lap me. It's pretty pathetic really, but I think my coaches see that I am trying so they don't call me out. Wouldn't matter if they did, though, as I just can't run (jog, shuffle, limp) any faster than I do at present.

Once I finally jogged to my usual spot (in the front - the other boot campers save my spot for me; they know I like to be in front and they can see that I'm the slowest runner), Coach Mandy gave us our instructions.

"You will do 3 pushups, 6 sit-ups and 9 full squats. You will keep doing these back-to-back for 12 minutes. No stopping." She then smiled at us. Mandy is young, hard-bodied and gorgeous. I imagine she rolls out of bed every morning with fresh breath and perfect hair, dressed in matching workout attire. When she inflicts torture, she always does it with a sparkle in her eye while batting her fluffy eyelashes.

"And..." Coach Dave added in his strong baritone. "You should give it your all. Since these are calisthenic exercises, the only way you are going to get a work out in...is to work it out." He then flashed us a dazzling smile, without blinking. I realized then that what I was being asked to do was anything but easy.

I'm happy to report that my push-ups have improved significantly (yay!) and my sit-ups are spot on (in fact, because I can do these so well, when Coach Dave told us to complete the exercise we can perform well the fastest, I blew through these with perfect form and intensity). My squats, however, still need (a lot of) work. Coach Dave had me hold his outstretched hands today while asking me to squat all the way down until my thighs were parallel with the ground. He instructed me to, "sit back, back...no, back, back...now down....not forward...down, down." He then told me that he suspects the main reason I can't do a proper squat "could all be in your head." (Really? Cause I could swear the reason I can't do a proper squat is all in my hips, thighs and ass, but okay.)

I love boot camp. Well, I did love boot camp...until this past Saturday, anyway. Sorry to skip around, but between boot camp and cycling, I'm all over the place!

Tim just wakes up with this energy...

Bob and Linda on the Burbank bike path...

On Saturday, I rode to Griffith Park and Dodgers Stadium with Bob, Tim and Linda. We met Vic, an acquaintance friend/cyclist, along the way. It was a forty mile ride, one I know by heart and can normally pedal in my sleep. Not this past Saturday. I sucked-it the whole ride and I'm not kidding this time (actually, I never kid when I say that).

I pushed on the flats, foolishly thinking my legs

would be golden on the climbs...

I suffered pitifully on every climb and pedaled with little to no life in me for at least 35 miles of it. This is becoming the norm and it's beginning to scare me. Yes, of course I know that boot camp last week had an impact on me physically and ,yes, I know the load I'm putting on my body has gone up exponentially. But I still don't accept that as an excuse to all out suck-it!

Linda thinks I'm over-doing it. "You're going to end up injured if you aren't careful," she warned me as I pedaled listlessly behind her back wheel. The sweetie babied me from mile 32 to mile 40; I owe her big time.

"I'm taking a rest day each week," I reassured her.

To this, I got a (light) lecture on how I might actually need two rest days per week. I get the logic but my response to that is...but when will I get to ride my bike? The weekend is the only time and I just can't give up a weekend day to "rest." I'm not giving up boot camp Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday (like hell) and I'm not giving up cycling (no way in hell), so thus my conundrum.

A new round of a new game...

one more try....

As it turns out, it's everyone else's conundrum as well. All day on Saturday, my friends had to hurry up and wait, and wait, and wait some more. I, however, never waited. In fact, I don't think I took much of any break at all since I was the one causing the others to wait.

Things to ponder while waiting...

Vic, the newest member of the group, held back to ride up the canyons in Griffith Park with me. Actually, he held back from the very first climb, Trash Truck Hill. I hate (hate) to meet a new rider and then all out suck-it, no matter what excuse I may have.

So nice and such a sandbagger!...

I think he may have done hill repeats on the other side to occupy himself while waiting...

"I'm doing boot camp," I murmured through gritted teeth, breathing heavy, my cheeks red, as I pedaled no faster than 4mph (if that) on the climbs.

"I know!" Vic said (in his crisp Boston accent) "You're doing great. I don't climb much faster than this myself." I knew he was sandbagging and not very well at that, but I decided not to throw any temper tantrums seeing as how this was the first time I'd ridden with him. The others, who went up at their own paces leaving me to crawl in my own simmering juices, know me (and my temper). Vic will learn, too, just give it time.

thank goodness for these three great folks, made the suffering

and the suckage bearable...

man, she kicked ass on the climbs...

On the bike path, heading home...

By the time we finished and were seated at a lunch table (with beers in front of us), I had little appetite and zero spunk. I faked it, though, smiling through my sagging spirits. I think this was the first (and hopefully only time) that my inner cyclist whispered in my ear, "I hate this stupid, fucking boot camp...quit." I tried to ignore her but she kept that boot-camp-hate-talk up for the majority of the afternoon, gnawing at my ego and then spitting it on my motivation.

these two make me laugh so much...

Well, she's just going to have to cool it cause I am not quitting boot camp. Ultimately, it should (better) make me (and her) a stronger cyclist. I wouldn't be doing it if I thought otherwise. But I've got nine more weeks of this precarious tug-a-war to play. My main goal isn't for either discipline to win but just to survive it all, injury free.

Sir Sprint-a-lot...

the voices of reason...

With this thinking, I began Sunday's ride determined to just spin my legs out. That was the plan. And I had Linda and Debbie there to help keep me in check. Herb, who also joined, wasn't quite as supportive. But his inner cyclist has utter control of his situation. Herb rides his bike, all the time, weekends, week days, road and dirt, motivated or not. Herb (and his inner cyclist) are where I (and my inner cyclist) used to be (and hope to be again). He pushed the pace and even sprinted ahead with glee a couple of times, even after riding a tough 70 mile route in Ventura the day before. I squelched the desire to chase his wheel, reminding myself that I needed to take it easy. I'm so glad now that I did.

in Woodland Hills after fueling on coffee...

behaving...

misbehaving (sigh)...

We rode from the middle of the valley west to Woodland Hills for coffee. It was so beautiful out, stunning actually. There was no climbing in our ride, just spins and sprints, our wheels rolling along mostly on a bike path. It was nice to revisit the "coffee run" and to "take it easy" after the past two weeks of mountain biking on Sundays (which I loved, for sure, but were not so forgiving on the legs the following Mondays at boot camp).

see that pigtail?...yes, I was there...

I have to give all this rest day(s) philosophy some serious consideration and get everything dialed in. It's a process, I keep reminding myself, and a journey, one I'm up to taking. I just hope all my riding peeps will not bore of me and drop me permanently along the way (I can't see that happening but I couldn't blame them either!) I can only promise them, as I promise myself, that I won't waste this opportunity to improve and that at the end of it all, I will back in the saddle, stronger than ever.

I must sound nutty

2012-05-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

Week Three...of boot camp. Let's start there, shall we? It starts with a B for brutal and ends with a P for...oh, never mind. It's torture!!! But I love it. Yes, still. I now have 9.5 weeks left and I know the transformation I face (with enthusiasm).

This isn't about losing weight. I'd be lying to say that I'm not utterly focused on that. But damn me and my disorders...I will not accept that as my end goal. Nope. I'm gonna be one strong bitch when I'm done...strong, lean, buff and...limber. I love that word. Say it. "Lim...ber." It's got that sexy ring to it. I want to be able to wrap my legs up above my ears (more so than I can now - never you mind). I want to not only touch my toes, but caress them with my perfectly extended yet relaxed finger tips. I will float above my waist with ease as if my abs were the center of my frame (they are) and not just some muscles I should "crunch' into submission.

I love boot camp. I love Coach Dave. If he ever reads this (doubtful), he might think me odd. But what he must think of as a job, I think of as a favor he's doing me. He's beautiful beyond words and he practices what he preaches. I like folks like him. I can follow and trust their wisdom. Today, he showed me why I can't squat all the way down to my heels. I never even thought about it before today. But now? I got a little homework to do. In a couple of weeks, my squat will be perfect.

I must sound nutty, huh? No more than usual. I'm just inspired in all kinds of ways. I've found bends in my body I never knew existed. I've also found tightness, soreness and resistance. But I've not felt real (unhealthy) pain. I may joke that my boot camp coaches, including Coach Dave, "torture me," but that is all...a joke. In reality, Coach Dave, Coach Mandy, Coach Liz, inspire, motivate and challenge me. I will forever remember them long after the "on ramp" program is over. I wonder if these individuals truly know how much what they do for a living affects, in a positive way, the lives of others. I wish I had their job. I think I just gave an ultimate compliment to the folks who make me struggle the most! Well...they deserve it.

What did we do last week beginning last Tuesday? -

(Slam Ball and "Death by 10 Meters" was described in last Tuesday's post)
1. Dead-lifts (done properly!) I LOVED these. These are very intimidating, but when done with proper form, they provide an amazing workout! We also worked abs that day (situps) - I was feeling it!
2. 120 forward lunges (60 each leg), 30 pushups (oh, dear Lord) and 30 "hollows" - making out like a canoe and holding your abs in (these are really hard for me!)
3. "Wall Ball" - squatting and throwing a 12 pound, sand-filled dyno ball up a wall. I did 81. I almost died (grin).

And this week, Week Three (as in today!):

4. Chest Lifts with a 45 pound bar (I did well at these) and slam ball (again). I damn near wore myself into my shoes with this exercise. Coach Dave encouraged us to wear ourselves out as soon as possible. I'm beginning (beginning) to understand why.

Boot camp rocks!!!!!

Now, between boot camp workouts (i.e. the weekend), I rode 30 miles (with 2,800 ft of climbing) on Saturday, 14 miles (on dirt; with 1,790 feet of climbing) on Sunday, and 30 miles (minimal climbing, thank goodness) yesterday. I pulled another 6 days of hard workouts in a row. I may need to rethink this schedule for safety and sanity, but for now, here are the purty pictures of those with whom I rode and the beauty we rode in:

Saturday, Mulholland Loop with Bob and Herb:

Little did I realize the pain he was about to inflict...

Herb joins, having ridden from home...

Mulholland is deceiving...

Its climbs are far more challenging than they appear..

And this would be the top of Nichols Canyon - that's 15 percent of hell...

Just look at that devilish grin Bob's got on his face...

The payoff (I cannot complain)...

In my old hood...

This is my "yes I was there" shot for all three rides...

Sunday, riding dirt up and down Sullivan Canyon with Herb (ouch)...

Back following his 29er again...

Cutest little "labadoodle" at the Nike Missile Site..

So beautiful on Sullivan Canyon...

Gorgeous mountain views...

Herb's photo shoot...

Yup, 29ers are that much bigger!...

Had to walk this, as I just didn't have 15 percent on dirt in me...

Monday, Memorial Day, fun, easy "spin" to the Calabasas Commons with Tim and Bob...

Tim and Bob, taking it "easy"...

and easily dropping me...

they waited enough for me to catch and photograph them

(they know the rules)...

I kept yelling at them to "stop PHucking around!"...

Perfect weather, mellow traffic...

"Move your lard ass!" - he's good at reminding me...

back in Swankville...

time for a beer!...

That was my riding for the weekend. It was challenging in and of itself even without the added boot camp workouts. I'm going to have to figure it all out to keep my workouts and cycling up. It's a learning process for sure, trial and error - one I have 9.5 more weeks to figure out. I, of course, embrace the challenge of it all. Bring it!

not all that much different from riding a bike...

2012-05-22T11:41:00.000-07:00

What a difference a week makes. From two Sundays ago to this morning, my activity level has gone up exponentially. I worked out (hard) for six days last week. I also slept a full ten hours this past Saturday night in a seemingly dreamless cocoon (well, I don't remember any dreams, so I'm assuming I had none). I have been just plum wiped out. That's what Boot Camp (will get to that in a minute) and riding near 50 miles one day and 17 miles (on dirt) the next will do to ya.

I rode twice this past weekend, good, solid rides. Saturday was on road, while Sunday, I pedaled in dirt above Encino and Reseda. Both rides had their challenges and both were glorious...I kinda felt like my old self again this past weekend (the cyclist who would never not ride both Saturday and Sunday). I'm getting back to it, the cycling that is (much to the joy of my inner cyclist!), and just one week of not doing the same damn thing over and over expecting different results was all it took to engage me, motivate me and get me to move my lard ass (snicker...yes, I really do say that to myself every single morning; I was not kidding).

Saturday's ride - to the Rose Bowl and back, 50 miles. It involved me riding rather timid while my riding buddies danced ahead of me only to wait for me to catch up. Hey, I told them they could amuse themselves by doing hill repeats, but surprisingly, neither one of them took my suggestion to heart...

my testosterone filled, fun companions...

they look far more serious than they are...

that's the move your lard ass hand signal...

into the palms and above Glendale...

"weren't you just behind me? Get back there and stop goofing off!"

(Coach Bob)...

finally, shade and pretty canyons above the Bowl...

I never tire of it over there (in Pasadena)...

taken with my zoom lens as I'm way (way) back behind here...

that's the "beer!" cry...

that's the "beer now" hand signal...

at the Golden Road Brewery; way cool place...

these could not have come sooner!...

someone might have had a little too much...(snicker)

Sunday's mountain bike ride was one I worried over, but actually, I rode stronger on Sunday than on Saturday! Go figure. I rode with Herb. Remember him? Well, he's been riding dirt on a new, drool-worthy mountain bike with 29er wheels. He looked great and rode like a beast, even after riding a century along the coast on Saturday. I rode pretty well too (chasing his wheel) and was actually quite surprised at how strong my legs felt. I think Boot Camp may already be helping...

dude should be smiling, he got himself a tricked out mountain bike!...

those 29ers are bigger than he is!...

even after riding a century the day before, he dropped me...
likely a badly microwaved potato...

the hill up to the hub ahead...ouch...

the hub - haven't been up to it in at least 3 years!...

the single track out to the Ruins...

at the Ruins...too hazy to see the ocean...

Poor Herb, he thought he was done with my antics for good (snicker)...

heading back in 95 degree heat!...

That was my riding, but it was not the extent of my workouts. Nope, I've been knocking out anywhere between 550 and 700 calories four days a week at Boot Camp. I am ever appreciative to my employer for offering the program for 12 weeks for free. It truly is top notch. I should clarify that I do not feel it is "crossfit" which is all the rage at present. It does have elements of crossfit in it, certainly, but there is a tremendous amount of good ol' fashioned boot camp, the kind that pushes you to your limit but in a safe, controlled way.

I love it...naturally. It's intrinsic to my nature to seek structure. I crave it and need it, actually. With this program, I'm getting it. For one thing, I have to be at the stadium where this is all held at 7:15am every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday (Wednesday is a "rest day," thank God, and the day we focus on a nutrition lecture). Then, I have to be rested, hydrated and ready to put my all into it no matter how tired I may feel. I'm not competing against the others, just myself. The coaches are there to instruct, guide, encourage and monitor, but they will tell you that it is you pushing yourself. I'm harder on myself than any Boot Camp coach could ever be, which means I've been working hard.

Speaking of coaches, I really like mine. I even have a favorite - Coach Dave. He used to be in the Air Force and clearly, looking at him, you can tell he's practiced not only what he preaches but holds himself to strict discipline. He has to be my age or older, but he could pass for early 30s easily. That's what a life of discipline and exercise does for a body! Anyway, he's got the tough act down but with a dry wit I find particularly comical. I keep laughing and grinning goofy throughout all the torture we're put through. I fear Coach Dave is going to dislike me cause I'm so cheery and positive all the time. But so far, he seems to tolerate me.

The workouts? Oh, they are brutal, but very short really. The movements are more intense and explosive with lots of repetition. We're taught perfect form (I'm a good study too!) and encouraged to perform every exercise correctly over speed. Thus far, we've done the following:

Warmups:

All kinds of hands, hips, lunge stretchy moves

World's Best Stretch - walking lunges (love these!)

Hand Walking Stretch (aka the "Inch Worm") - this is where you assume the plank position and walk your legs in without bending your knees (hate these!)

Jogging in place (just started that yesterday)

Walking a lap around the track (or jogging, which started today)

Exercises so far:

Squats (for real, not wussy ones)

Planks

Push ups, real ones not the "girly" kind (I can barely do three)

Sit ups (not crunches, full sit ups but in a way that doesn't affect the lower back)

Canoe rocks (don't even ask, I can't do it...yet)

Sumo Squats (with balls - um...that sounds funny - I mean, while picking up exercise balls)

Sumo Squats and performing "slam ball" - variation involving upper body coordination

Death by 10 Meters - sprinting over and over and over and over to try and complete 17 back and forths between 10 meters in one minute. I completed eleven (sigh).

Dead Lifts - for the first time in my life I tried these. I've been scared of them due to back issues, but I loved them! Mainly cause Coach Dave demonstrated the proper way to do them in excruciating detail. I did very well at these.

This is halfway through week two and I'm so tired. My legs are spaghetti today after the bike riding this weekend, the sprinting yesterday and the dead lifts today. Did I mention that tomorrow is a rest day? Could.Not.Come.Sooner.

And did I mention that I love it?

If anything, I'm going to gain better flexibility, strength and confidence at the end of 12 weeks. I'd recommend this kind of program to anyone, just listen to your body and stop when you need to. And push when you can. Not all that much different from riding a bike.

move your lard ass

2012-05-13T20:52:00.000-07:00

It's (yet again) been two weeks since I've written on here. No real reason for not writing except that last weekend I did not ride my bike. I did hike my Merrells, but nothing worth writing home about (which is not to say it wasn't a gorgeous trail including a waterfall or with great company, but it just wasn't epic). No, I spent most of my Cinco de Mayo weekend drinking too many margaritas in Palm Springs with the girls and some other fantastic friends. I had a great time for sure, but I've officially decided that margaritas suck. Unless you get a "skinny" version, they are all sugar - and that is what causes the puffy eyes and fuzzy tongue the following morning, not the tequila. Last Sunday, I was nothing but puff and fuzz. Although a fun weekend road trip to the desert, I might should have taken it back a notch.

I forgot two things: 1. I was scheduled to donate blood this past Thursday; and 2. I'm starting boot camp tomorrow. Blowing it out my pie hole less than a week from one and just a little over a week before the other was just not wise. What's that saying? - hindsight is 20/20? In hindsight, I should have ridden my bike last weekend & drank nothing but smoothies (the kind that do not contain tequila). Oh, well...can't go back and change it now.

Here is where he said he was "tired"...

someone has new wheels...

to Santa Clarita we go...

Instead, I suffered through Monday of last week (yes, it took TWO days to recover), worked out half-assed on Tuesday, gave it somewhat of my all at the gym on Wednesday, donated blood on Thursday and did nothing on Friday. Not exactly a disciplined week. Yesterday? Well, I rode my bike of course! I rode it a good 50 miles with the boys (Bob and Tim) in Santa Clarita (we changed our original ride to the Rose Bowl canyons due to some family ride over in that area) and suffered. By suffered I mean "nearly bonked." Yup, my first near bonk in a long while. I don't think I've wanted to puke off a bike like that since I rode the Hemet Double. I earned my right to puke then. Yesterday, I earned nothing but a complete sense of relief to make it back without having to call Bob's lovely wife or take a cab back (talk about the ego and the tail between the legs if that had happened!!)

the ass-burner ahead...

Tim liked the climb over Sierra Highway...

down in Newhall, a quaint little town...

love this bike path!...

The weather was lovely, by the way, far less hot than the last time Bob and I rode this ride (um, two weeks ago; please see my last blog entry). The winds were (mostly) kind to us and the skies above us clear. Since the route yesterday was the exact route (plus a few miles) as two weeks ago, my legs knew what to expect. Out the gate, they were dragging, but they did not fail me. I was fine up Rinaldi out to Sierra Highway and even did a pretty impressive job spinning up that one ass-burner on Sierra Highway. I was nowhere near the men on the climbs, certainly, but I don't think I was embarrassing myself (entirely) either. The final climb before the final descent into Newhall wasn't all that bad. My legs and spirits were in agreement, leaving me ear to ear grinning.

still able to hang with the boys here...

someone so tired can pedal so fast!...

and I watch them go...

The men were riding strong, even though Bob started the day with his usual "I'm tired," sandbagging act. I've learned how to interpret his code. "I'm tired" means "I'm going to hammer like hell." And that he did once we hit the bike path (that glorious, smooth, magical bike path out in the middle of nowhere). I don't think he realizes that his calves are three times the size of mine. His easy pace of 18-21 mph is my max at present. I found myself sprinting, at first with glee, and then slowly with dismay as the distance between his back wheel and my front wheel was impossible to gap. Tim, also freaky fast when he wants to be, could easily catch Bob's wheel after trying to hang back with me for a bit. I'm no stranger to riding with men and I know the drill - when one hammers like hell, the other can't help but to try and catch/stay up with him.

they waited or I'd have not gotten this shot...

I don't mind. On a normal day (whatever that is anymore), I likely could have somewhat hung on to that pace. Not yesterday. In fact, after just a few short miles on that bike path, my legs began to crack, then crumble. It started in my quads, a quivering, and then moved on down to my calves. My shoulders chimed in followed by my upper arms. I felt heavy, out of balance and suddenly riding in slow motion. I've felt all of this before and usually it means I'm not fueling enough. I grabbed a bar out of my jersey and gnawed the paper off with my teeth. Trying to chew and pedal through the abrupt inertia I was suddenly in took coordination. I tried to swallow and couldn't, so I chewed longer and with more effort. When I finally got a mouthful down, a tiny bit of it came right back up. I think that was the moment I knew I was in trouble. We were barely 15 miles in and I had 35 to go with a climb back up and out of Santa Clarita via Sierra Highway. My stars were not aligning.

I tried to tell Bob, who knew something was wrong, but without being a whiny cry baby. I just did what I normally do.

"You boys just go ahead and I'll catch up," I told them (repeatedly and in various variations)

"No, we're not going to leave you," they told me in reply (repeatedly and in various variations)

Tim shows me cycling Jedi...

just after lunch before they drop me again...

at least someone is jazzed...

I've played this game before. I never win and, truthfully, I'm grateful for that. I'm a big girl and can take care of myself, but I'm always one to stick with a stricken rider myself. It's safer and the right thing to do. I just hate being the one that affects everyone else's ride. Yesterday, I didn't have much choice. I was lucky to pedal back of my own volition. The desire to puke never left me and even after getting a sandwich down my throat for lunch, I never got my blood sugar up to the level it should have been. I suffered like hell pedaling back home. Sierra Highway was the worst, especially in awful and sudden headwinds. I stopped at one point, put my foot down and did the very thing I should never admit to doing (and yet do) - I sobbed in self pity.

and I (again) watch them go...

dropped, pedaling in headwinds, bonking and sniveling...good times!...

Pitiful, huh? I bet you can guess the rest of it. I got to the top of Sierra Highway (where the men were waiting patiently for me) and back to Swankville (Bob's house from where we had departed in the morning). The men very kindly GPSed a flat(ish) route back (versus the rollers back). I was so grateful to the both of them and happy to get off the bike. My legs were shot, my back tweaked (something I've not had in months!) and my mojo shot all to hell.

no, they didn't leave me for the buzzards...

finally back in Swankville, heading home...

But...

I will live to ride another ride and, more importantly, this whole experience will just help fuel my desire to bust my balls tomorrow at boot camp. What is this, you ask? It's an intensive 12-week fitness program offered by my employer (for free) that I was lucky enough to (finally) get into after applying twice before in the past. You have to win a lottery to get in since so many employees want to do it. And those who have participated have improved their fitness triple fold, lost weight and rave about how great it all is - if not tremendously challenging. A cross between the old school boot camp and the new "cross fit" programs, it is an hour long workout that involves plyometrics, weights, stairs (stadium steps), a track and lots of isolated moves. I have to report to the stadium at 7:15am every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. I cannot miss more than three classes. It's gonna be tough!

I told Dad about it this past week. If anyone in the world will support my doing such a program, it's him. He knows I've been struggling not only with my weight but with my motivation to do just about anything, including cycling. When I told him that I can't keep beating my head against the same wall over and over expecting new results, he enthusiastically agreed.

"Yup. I think this is just great. It will be good for you...good for you to move your lard ass."

Now, before you think my father cruel, he most certainly is not. He's just someone who does not understand back-handed insults. By saying what he did, he was giving me his utmost support. Besides, I found it hilarious as I understand exactly what he meant and, after all, I do know the man very well (he's the one who got me riding a bike at age 8 and who made my sister and me exercise with him when all we wanted to do was lie on our butts and watch TV).

Thus, from here on out, I've decided that in lieu of telling myself to HTFU on the mornings I don't want to report to the stadium bleachers for what I'm sure will be a torturous round of group exercise, I'm going to look in the mirror and say "move your lard ass." When I even consider heading to happy hour with some friends to snack on fried calamari and sip a martini, I'm going to remind myself that in the morning I have to "move your lard ass." Lastly, whenever I get discouraged or consider quitting anything, I'm just going to think, "move.your.lard.ass!!!"

And, of course, I will chronicle all this moving of my lard ass on this here blog. Could prove very interesting or, at the very least, comical.

woke up happy and went to bed happy

2012-04-29T19:49:00.000-07:00

I cannot express how much I loved this weekend. I look forward to Friday every week. In fact, sadly, I live for my weekends. Only then do I feel free and calm. Only then do my stars align, my senses unite. Take that as you like (no, I don't do LSD). I mean it as purely as it can mean it. Weekends are when I open my eyes in the morning and am fully awake.

This weekend, I woke up happy and went to bed happy (well, tonight when I hit the hay, I can promise you a smile will be on my lips!) I got the best of both worlds with some friends I love (love).

Pinch me without worry of me pinching you back. Yup...I am THAT happy. Here is why in pictures:

heading out of Swankville early on Saturday...my tail was wagging!
Bob had mapped us a new ride to Santa Clarita.

my fearless, sweet, patient, funny and motivating leader!...

heading out to Santa Clarita...it was so windy here!!...

that hill may not look like much in this photo, but (cringe) it put hair on my chest!...

Oh yeah...we smoked her! And dropped her!! (snicker)...

sigh...

following bob onto this...

the most magical bike path I've ever ridden on...

He may look all serious but really he's laughing with joy here...

that way to beer...

Oh My God...hot, hot, hot here! but we made it up it

(Sierra Highway in 95+ degree heat)...

Not sure who/what/why - but way cool anyway...

Back in Swankville after 2,800 ft of climbing in insane heat - could not have been happier or more appreciative to my wonderful friend!...

Oh, and he made out alright! - look at his find along the side of the road!...

Then, after such a great ride, Bob, Tina (his lovely better half), another friend and I went for dinner at Umami Burger. Crazy delicious and such great company (again, pinch me).

Then today? A hike with the Linda and Debbie in Topanga Canyon. We drove around confused for a bit but finally found a trail head and took off on foot uphill from the parking lot. Amazing workout, fantastic company (the girls never disappoint) and...and...well, you decide...

Delicious, glorious, amazing, splendid...I can't find enough adjectives! Give me next weekend now, please. More hiking and some outright, outrageous frivolity & debauchery to come! (photos may or may not be posted...snicker)

he's stuck by me

2012-04-23T20:10:00.000-07:00

Well, in the ONE week sabbatical that I took, Blogger.com has a new interface. I'm not happy about it, but I'm not ready to a) put this blog to bed (or bury it in its grave) and b) not ready to "upgrade." So, I'll see how long it lasts.

Now, on to more important things (to me, anyway). How's the riding going, you ask? (you're asking, right?) Just swell, I should say...although, I'm slightly lying.

riding out in Swankville again - with two fantastic men...

he makes Santa Susana Pass look easy...

yes...I was there...

I didn't blog two weekends ago cause didn't feel like it. I did ride though and I rode with two great guys (Bob and Tim). But I struggled, I fretted, I grunted...and I wished I wasn't riding (gasp!). So, I didn't readily want to report that on here. My sad-sack story can only go so far, then it loses steam. So, I went inward, clammed up and reassessed.

cousins...

Luckily for me, a particular triathlete had different plans for me this weekend.

"How about a ride to the Rose Bowl?" Bob emailed.

Now, I'm way beyond the Rose Bowl with respect to my riding ability in my fantasies. In those, I'm riding up Mt. Baldy, with little effort, grinning with glee. In reality, I'm lucky to make it up Mt. Hollywood in Griffith Park without puking - clearly a disparity between me and reality. I like it that way.

Chandler in the morning...empty...

this guy could have been cool...if he had on a helmet...

Burbank bike path, early...

MFRPOAT!!!

"O..kay," was my lack luster response. I've ridden the Rose Bowl route how many times recently?? I wasn't inspired or delighted.

Then, it hit me.

A year ago, I rode to the Rose Bowl. Guess who was beside me? Yup, my good friend, Bob. How could I forget? I immediately mapped a different version of the RB ride, with less hills but lots of sprinting to spice it up a bit and emailed Bob back. Lucky for me, he was game.

So, on Saturday, with many weather reports predicting over 90 degree heat (a total deterrent for me), we took off from my hood, heading east, at 7:15am. My favorite riding partner of all time (MFRPOAT), Bob, was again at my side, just like last year. He's earned that title. Why? Cause during one of the most trying years (a year I considered giving up cycling altogether), he's stuck by me. And I'm not kidding here...he's stuck by me.

yup...blue, blue, blue...

that way to beer?...

If you really know me, then you know my temper. I'm not easy to be around always. Fortunately for me, Bob gets that. I guess since he has kids, he has patience - or whatever. He tolerates me (and my many moods) while on a bike. Couldn't ask for more. And, I was very lucky to have met him a year ago. Enough said.

It was cool when we left, so much so, Bob had his arm warmers on. Not me - I went without, enjoying the cool air against my skin. I knew the air would thicken with sunshine and that meant suffering (in my fair-haired-pale-skinned kind of way). We "whitey white whites" overheat and burn far quicker than anyone else. I have to slather on the zinc paste (which in turn, makes me look ghastly white, and bugs stick to me - so attractive). I was slathered up Saturday for sure, and for the first time in nearly a year, I rode without a base layer.

the LA River bike path in the A.M. is so beautiful...

the flowers are all in bloom...

just Bob & his shadow...

Luckily, we didn't hit the heat until the last 15 miles home. Around the bowl is always cooler, being that it's nestled up against the San Gabriels. And there is ample shade in that area, something I love. I love the canyons there in general and never tire of them. I could, however, do without a walk for autism, for which 30,000 folks joined. I'm all for the charity, but it did kind of throw a kink in my ride plan. Bob and I ended up skipping the big climb for the day, Lida, cause we had to retrace our exact steps back to Montrose.

There we stopped for lunch (our usual) and enjoyed the breath of cool air on our necks. Bob even commented, "I think the weather men blew it. It's not anywhere near nor is it even going to reach 95 degrees today."

"Um...I hate to break this to you. But you're about to ride into that 95 degrees here in a minute," was my smug reply. Hey, I know this valley and I know the drill.

at the crazy Rose Bowl...

climbing on out of it!...

the pretty shaded canyons by Descanso Gardens...

yes, I was there...

Sure enough, from east to west back through the "wind tunnel" was smoking hot. I even asked Bob to throw water on me at one point to put the burning sun at bay. It lasted for all of two minutes before I was overheating again. Luckily, we were pulling up to my driveway about the time my legs lost all motivation.

after mentioning to Bob that I've ridden FIVE double centuries, he felt the need to tell me he's completed ONE half Ironman (snicker)...

the best burrito ever, not that I know anything about how good it is...

heading home and into the heat...

I hugged Bob and thanked him profusely. I also just stood and grinned goofy at him, like a child just given a grape soda. "Thank you soooooo much," I cooed.

favorite photo of the day- courtesy of Bob...

Did I mention how lucky I am to have such a great friend and steady riding buddy? And have I said how grateful I am too? I am and I am...and hopefully, we'll repeat the same ride next year, just for pure nostalgia.

"know where to go" ride

2012-04-08T16:58:00.018-07:00

Easter is a freak holiday to me; sorry if I offend any Christians who might read this. But between Jesus rising from the dead and a giant bunny rabbit giving hard boiled eggs to children (something perverted about that), I have always thought it to be a holiday made up by stoners. It's just too much of a mix. I mean, Christmas may contain both the birth of Jesus and a fat man in a red suit flying around in a sleigh full of toys lead by reindeer, but who doesn't love the food & drink that comes with it? (hello? - eggnog! - spiked, of course) Easter? Well, you tell me. Beyond the eggs and...er...eggs, what is there? I think I might should go hang with the Jews on this holiday. At least during Seder, they get to consume four cups of wine (and no one thinks that excessive).

I am speaking tongue & cheek, certainly. Hey, celebrate as you please, folks. Me? I chose to ride my bicycle. In fact, I rode today with one of my favorite Jews, Linda. We would have had Debbie join us, but she wasn't feeling well. We would have ridden along PCH, except I offered to drive to Linda's place and ride from there (on the "Know Where to Go" ride - coined for the reason that you just have to know where you're going; there is no route slip). Circumstances change moment to moment it seems. I am not complaining, cause my ride today was lovely and very Eastery in its own little way (mainly, we just saw lots of little girls out in the cutest dresses and bonnets - it is the holiday for hats!).

my fantastic riding buddy along the path...

lots of families out on bikes today...

UCLA rowers out on a holiday?...

We rode from Linda's place on the west side out to Westchester via the Ballona Creek Bike Path. I never tire of the path as it always presents something new and interesting - like today's pelican party. There were at least 10-20 pelicans out in the water frolicking (for lack of a better word). Not sure what they were celebrating, but none wore a bonnet (now, that would have been a photo!).

have NEVER seen this many birds, let alone pelicans, out there - maybe they are celebrating Easter (or Passover)?

these guys may be big, but they are very graceful...

There were also rowers out (on a holiday?), many cyclists and all sorts of just random folks enjoying the unbelievably gorgeous weather we got going on here. Stunning skies, lots of sun and never too hot (actually, a tad chilly along Redondo). I love it here, love it, love it, love it. If only I could transport my family to some compound in Malibu, then it would be perfect (this would be why I buy a lottery ticket every draw). I felt my heart sing as I pedaled along the coastal neighborhoods, riding at a moderate pace with my sweet, humorous friend. We didn't push too hard, but we didn't mosey around either!

Patsy soaking up the rays...

sigh...I don't pay high rents for nothing!...

the bike, the matching hoodie, it all worked...

lots of these convertibles out too...

Linda brought marzipan eggs!...

Our stops for the day were two - once at the dolphin bench (where we normally spot dolphins, but not today) and once at the Local Yolk (a diner Jordan recommended as a perfect breakfast stop - it is!) Otherwise, we booked it. We ended up with 42 miles and some good climbing. I had hoped for 50 miles, but I will not complain. It was simply stunning along the coast and the vibe was positive everywhere we rode.

everyone celebrates in his/her own way...

and the rest of us do not complain...

it would be really awesome to say that I climbed up these...

Linda and my butt cheek (yes, I was there)...

Now, back to Easter. I may think it freaky but it doesn't mean I think others should. So, naturally, I dressed someone up to wish everyone a happy holiday. I was lucky to get even one photo - the bunny ears were not acceptable. I'm thinking my little scaly diva needs to get an attitude check! (that or I need my head checked). Regardless, she survived. And she did produce one photo to share.

Okay, here is where I will ask anyone not interested in apartment crap to exit this blog (and have a nice rest of your Easter). Dad? Share with JT & Mom (as if I need to ask). Below are pics of my new apartment that I love! It's not completely decorated yet, but close enough:

my new door mat - could not resist...

another "could not resist" - perfect place to keep the keys!...

the living room with new TV (I caved)...

the cityscape view off my balcony...

the fun lanterns for color...

the boat...er...couch...

order has been restored (thanks to my very sweet friend who helped hang this 3-panel painting)...

the loveseat no one ever noticed before...

the sofa table I got for a steal off of Craigslist!...

so glad I kept the Ikea cabinet...

home office...

the bookcase & clutter-catcher...

dining room table & dining room window (I've decided against drapes; I like the openness of just blinds)...

the full dining room with breakfast bar & bar stools I got off of Craigslist for cheap & painted myself...

the open kitchen...

the bathroom...

separate tub from shower...

the dragon on my windowsill (not to be confused with the dragon in my bedroom)...

the bedroom as you walk in...

Boo's room is behind the room screen...

one of FIVE (5) closets...did I mention that I love this place!...

That's it so far. Certainly happier this Easter than last (with respect to my living situation for sure, among other things). Hope everyone else enjoyed the holiday...or, at the very least, the weekend!

score 1 me, FU universe

2012-04-01T16:12:00.010-07:00

The universe has a wicked sense of humor and often when it tells jokes, they are on you. You can laugh with it or you can just curse it. I find laughing is the best option (after some considerable cursing, of course).

Take Saturday, when Bob and I were set to ride 50 miles. It drizzled from the time I got up at 5:30am to the time I went to bed at 10:00pm. Drizzle isn't rain...it's worse. And it's what the universe uses to screw up everyone's outdoor weekend plans without putting much effort into it. Drizzle is as dangerous as rain and something I won't ride in. Bob definitely won't either. He wears glasses and drizzle freaks him out. By 8:30am, 30 minutes after our planned roll time, the ride was aborted on Saturday. So? Score 1 Universe, Score 0 me.

he's hoping...

Then take yesterday. Beautiful it was in the SFV with effervescent blue skies and ample sunshine...you just had to make sure you ducked when a tree branch came flying at your head at 35 mph. It's called wind, and when this desert I live in decides to go blowing, nothing (and I do mean nothing) is truly tethered to anything solid. Try riding a metal toothpick with two rubber tubes while staying upright in these spiteful gusts. No.Fun.Whatsoever. But ride I did. So? Score 1 me, FU Universe.

Of course, I suffered. I even considered quitting, but Bob wouldn't let me.

"No matter where we go, it's going to be windy," he yelled into my ear (so that I'd hear him over the howling air around us; this was at mile 9, by the way).

"Not at the Blue Dog, it isn't," I hollered back. The Blue Dog is a tavern (my favorite) where there are off-limits yummies like multiple beers and fried jalepeno poppers.

"Nope, you want 50 miles? You're getting those miles."

dork shot!... (snicker)...

where the wind lessened...

Bob had had enough of my shit the weekend prior. He wasn't about to put up with any yesterday. So, off we pedaled from the SFV to the SGV (Pasadena). I'll spare you a "blow-by-blow" recounting (get it?), but we had both fantastic, not so windy weather (by the Rose Bowl) and then horrific headwinds on the way home (riding east to west across the valley, which is always somewhat a wind tunnel even on a good day). Oh, and yours truly decided to suggest an alternate route back to Montrose from the bowl - up Foothill Ave. to Verdugo Blvd. versus riding through Descanso Gardens (a far prettier route). Yeah...that was the biggest "chuckle" we (Bob) had all day.

"Oh, no. I ain't riding up that hill," I squealed aloud to Bob when I saw what laid ahead of us on Foothill.

"Oh, yeah you are. We're not turning around. Move your ass." Bob likes to play coach, by the way.

I have so missed the canyons above the bowl...

I'm pretty certain that hill on Foothill is at least 15 percent grade at the top, and there is no chance to tack it. I'm not ready for that kind of grade, but somehow I got up it, cursing silently as I was too busy huffing and nearly heaving to utter profanities. Lucky for me, Bob, who'd flown up it in front of me, was there to high-five me, a face full of grin and not the least bit out of breath. This took some of the sting out of my less than enthusiastic buttocks at that precise moment.

We then continued along Foothill (all uphill) to the one last downhill into Montrose. Lunch was waiting for us at City Hall (where Bob had the most delicious breakfast burrito ever - I know this cause I kept stealing bites off his plate). My fading blood sugar was restored and I was flying high. I knew that we had nothing but downhill/flat roads ahead of us to make it back home. But of course...I'd forgotten about the wind.

prettiest part of the ride...

at the bowl...

The last sweet downhill to Glenoaks Blvd. was so, so delicious. Then, we turned right, facing east and were hit smack in the nose with the most God-awful headwinds of the day. I can't repeat on here what I said aloud, spitting into them, as I pedaled less than 8mph on completely flat road pretty much all the way home. I would rather not make any sailors who might read this blush. But I was so pissed. Still, what do you do? I hadn't quit the ride and had a mere 15 miles to go. No one could pedal through that dry hurricane but me and, like I told Bob, he had to deal with the same winds as me and he wasn't complaining (or, at least, I couldn't hear him if he had).

so blue out...

I gulped when I saw this!...

I think I have never been so happy to be off my bike than when we finally pulled up to my driveway. It was then a beer by the pool (loving the new place!) before Bob was off to finish a ton of chores at home. He had as much energy hopping into his truck and taking off as he did when he'd arrived at 8:30am! Not me. I was wiped out. You could have pushed me over with your pinky. And I stank to high heaven. But I was happy and had that wonderful feeling in the pit of my stomach that I get after a good ride.

rewards!...

So, I guess this is a far better ride report than last week's? This is not to say that I wasn't pitiful yesterday at times (like when I considered quitting or when I whined about the wind), but I did it. Oddly enough, my legs have recovered today just fine. I didn't rush to the gym this morning (walking this afternoon instead), but I feel great! Oh, and I did receive one tiny pat on the shoulder from my inner cyclist. She's still miffed, but with enough time and miles, she'll come around.

let.it.go

2012-03-25T20:00:00.012-07:00

I cannot believe it is almost April. They say time speeds up as you get older. I think it's less the time that's speeding up and more that our memory is slowing down. We simply forget half the things we do (I know I do, anyway) and this leaves us with the impression that our days have just "flown by" cause we're getting old. Regardless, time or memory, April this year is arriving too soon. I'm not ready to greet it.

I say this because April was my goal for when I'd be riding up to Mt. Baldy, my favorite ride of all time and one I've not done in nearly three years (if memory serves). I had this lofty goal in mind last November when April seemed oh, so far away. Now that we're a mere two weeks from it and my goal has dissipated like fog off a mirror, my inner cyclist and I have spirits no higher than a blade of grass. She's not even speaking to me at present. And it's not that she's pissed at me, just deeply disappointed. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have someone really mad at me than disappointed in me. But I can't blame her.

go that way...

Swankville...

it's only this pretty after a rain...

For one thing, I am not riding my bike like I used to, nowhere near it. The kind of epic, breathtaking miles that were once inspiration to me are now unobtainable. Used to, I'd tell someone like me to just HTFU, get on your bike and ride!, but with the old age memory loss comes the realization that just "do it" could result in a whole host of problems. After having moved of late and not exercising for two weeks, I ran out, pushed too hard on some stair workouts and injured my leg. That left me unable to exercise for another whole week. Yeah...don't want a repeat of that. So, I'm not just going to haul ass on a bike to push myself to the next level. I'm going the kinder, gentler route, which is, in turn, not helping me toward meeting my goal of riding up to Mt. Baldy in two weeks. I know...let.it.go.

chasing that wheel all morning...

one of the few times I got ahead...

Bob going for the artsy-fartsy shot...

I think I had to put it in my granny gear to get up this...

Well, I already have. I'll be nowhere near that mountain on a bike for another good three or four months and by then, it may be too hot to ride up it. The depression this has brought me isn't even close to the despair it's set off in my inner cyclist. I swear, at night, when I'm just between consciousness and sleep, I hear her sobbing softly into the pillow beside me. I'm not sure what to do about it just yet, but I haven't completely given up.

In fact, I've been riding (sort of). Two weekends ago, I rode 20 miles with Bob out in Swankville. We only rode 20 because that was all I could handle. Bob told me when we were riding that I should write on here some nonsense about the headwinds and bitter cold temps. But who would I be kidding? (besides myself) I couldn't ride any more miles than that and every slight hill was a sufferfest for me (not for Bob; he just flew right up them). My leg strength was shot (still is) and I just got too dark in my mood to come on here at all. I've changed my mind this week, and that is only because I forgot the many photos I snapped. I can wallow in self pity and be as bleak as I'd like...but I shouldn't not share the pretty pictures.

Trash Truck first thing...

that's the "quit farting around and pedal" look...

yup...back to this game...

ooh, we spotted a rider breaking the law! (no mountain biking on dirt trails in Griffith Park)...

As for this past weekend, I rode then too. But only after a lot of drama. Mainly, I lost my temper in front of Bob, who is very generous to ride with me at all. I wanted 50 miles, but he had a time constraint (and pretty darn good reason for it too - his daughter just had a baby!). He assumed I could knock out 50 miles in 4.5 hours. That would be total time, not ride time. You should have seen and heard my temper tantrum. Poor Bob, he walked right into it by giving me a dose of my own medicine.

"HTFU!" he texted me when I told him I couldn't do it. "You can do it!" "Maybe it will push you to the next level."

I think I was frothing at the mouth by the time he arrived at my place on Saturday. We'd planned to ride to the Rose Bowl (which is about all I can handle these days) and back, but after much discussion, we settled for a ride to Griffith Park and up to the Observatory.

yes...I was there...

this perked me up considerably...

never gets old...

I love those canyons, certainly. And although it was overcast in the morning, the climb did not disappoint or bore me (never does). I love riding there. But it wasn't a 50 mile ride. In fact, we only got 29.25 miles. Mind you, I shouldn't complain cause, again, I'm lucky Bob will even ride with me at all. But I'm a sour puss of late and I wanted my 50 miles like a kid wants a coke-flavored Slurpee! Have you ever been in a 7-11 when that kid doesn't get that Slurpee? Yeah...that was me this past Saturday.

this little boy tried so hard to take that bike, but in the end, Bob won...

my attempt at an artsy-fartsy shot...

show off...

Bob survived and from every indication, he will ride with me again (although, he may start charging a baby-sitting fee if I don't adjust my 'tude). And I had a good ride, truthfully. I could have pedaled some more miles, but I still felt the ones we rode. Since my inner cyclist isn't speaking to me, I have no idea what she thought of them. I can only hope they kinda peaked her interest a little. I need her back in the saddle with me, encouraging me, "yippeeing!" into the wind just off my shoulder. She's my muse and without her....well, I don't want to even imagine it.

So, there are my pitiful little ride reports for the past two weeks. If anything, I hope you enjoy the pretty pictures.

I couldn't tell ya

2012-03-11T19:37:00.013-07:00

If you'd asked me last year on my birthday what I'd be like this year on my birthday, I'd have said, "better." Hmm...yesterday was my birthday. Ask me again - "what will you be like next year on your birthday?" --> I couldn't tell ya.

We never really do know what one year will be like from another. I'm no better this year than last, but my life certainly is. For one thing, I've met some wonderful new folks, and at least two have become friends I wouldn't trade for the world. Also, my die-hard friends have gotten more die-hardish, becoming more dear to me than ever before. Then, in the last couple of months, I've reconnected with folks I've fallen out of touch with for various reasons (none worth re-examining). On the friend front, last year was incredible.

On the loved ones front (that'd be family), it was a stellar year, too. I know that any day now I may lose my grandmother. She's old (no, really, it's okay to call her that - she's turning 93 in May!) and, honestly, I think she wanted to depart this strange planet a good three years ago (about the time she broke her hip). She even told me as much when I wished her "many more" on her 90th birthday. "I don't know, Mary Elizabeth. You may want to hold off on the 'many mores'." (verbatim) My point being - the heartache I'm sure to incur (as will others) was on hold for at least one more year, which made 2011 (my 41st year alive) a damn, damn good one.

As for me, my health, and, most importantly (to me), my cycling fitness...well...well. I'm alive, does that count? I suppose it does. I'm not impressive, though, unless you consider my waistline and current girth (I'm worth my weight in gold for damn sure, in case anyone is wondering). I'm not being mean in the least. I'm being honest. I'm now a "big boned" girl. Wouldn't mind that so much if I were still riding like I used to. Thing is? I'm not.

I moved, of course, and that brought a world of stress with it. I'm broke, too (for the most part). But I love my new home and every single day I walk out or in through my new front door is one in which I'm incredibly grateful. It's beautiful here (I will post pics soon, I promise). It's quiet, calm and everything a home should be, especially in a city that never shuts up. I am so happy to be here no matter how much it cost me (financially, physically or emotionally) to get here. But it did hamper my attempts at getting back into cycling shape (or any shape for that matter).

let me get this over with...yes, I was there...

my victims...er...riding companions...

so happy to see GT back on his bike, smiling, relaxed, fit & fabulous!..

Last weekend was the first weekend I rode. I didn't write about it as I had nothing to say. I was solo, on knobbies, climbed a lot (considering my out-of-shape shape) and completed close to 32 miles. Funny thing? I did exactly the same thing yesterday, only without climbing. I had lots of obstacles to dodge which was just about as strenuous as climbing, but I can't claim to have pedaled up any hills.

I rode on The Stand down by the ocean which is my traditional birthday ride (and way I spend the day). This year, I didn't have Dad (like when I turned 40) but I wasn't alone (like I was in 2009 and last year). Friends joined me this year (they could, since my birthday fell on a Saturday). I had Linda, Debbie, Bob, GT and Jordan. Lively bunch, they are, those jokesters and... well ...cyclists. I emphasize this, because instead of my leisurely birthday ride along the ocean yesterday, I got a hell of a workout trying to stay up with that bunch! Not that I'm complaining...

Marina Del Rey Harbor...

Bob and I carpooled over the hill together and we both rode on mountain bikes (he even rode without cleats). I thought his lovely better half might join but she declined (she and Bob are about to be first time grandparents and there is much excitement over in Swankville). Bob did join cause he needed a ride (he'll probably never admit that, but he has drank the Koolaid). I talked him into knobbies cause I knew that if I didn't, he'd pedal so fast, I'd not see him all day.

so, so, so lucky to have met this sweet friend (and riding buddy) in the last year...

so lucky to have this path to ride on (which I did much of last year!)...

I sighed when I saw this...

GT showed up on his new ride, Earl, a commuter bike. It's rather spiffy, I must say. GT looked so fantastic (relaxed, happy and fit), that I'm certain Earl has been a good friend to him already. Earl is not a mountain bike, but heavy nonetheless. This did not slow GT down one bit. He and Bob dropped us girls for long stretches. So much for my strategy!

The girls were on road bikes, Linda and Debbie that is (I'll get to Jordan in a minute). They smoked me all day. I think they dug it since I generally show off on the road bike (when I'm in shape) and ride ahead. Not yesterday. I struggled to catch their wheels, and honestly, other than when some dumbass pedestrian stumbled in front of them and slowed them down, I never so much as caught the draft off their back tires!

first time I changed a mountain bike tube. first time Bob...um...um....er...um...

What a good thing all this not-catching-anyone's-wheel was - it meant I got a fantastic workout and drank less at the pub (Brew Co. in Manhattan Beach; formerly Manhattan Beach Brewing Company). That place has such a history for Dad and me. I tried to tell my friend's about it but the waitress showed up to take our order and I lost their interest. I was secretly bummed, but really, it's a history Dad and I will always share, so who cares!

In a nutshell, Dad and I stopped at the brewery back when I was 27 (on a drive down to San Diego). While ordering at the bar, Dad caught the attention of a group of young men (with his southern drawl and openly friendly personality) who then treated us and took a photo with us. Dad said it was me who caught their eye, but I beg to differ. Dad is John Wayne, after all! Then, in 2010, we rode our bikes there together on my birthday - thus, the Brew Co. is my annual birthday stop.

these girls make me and The Strand look good...

never gets old (and never will)...

At the Brew Co. yesterday was when Jordan showed up (GT left us in Marina Del Rey and did not join at the bar). She is such a lovely, tall drink of water, that young woman. All smiles and looking guilty, she handed me a tiny cardboard box. "I hope you won't be mad at me," she said. "I brought you cake, but just one bite." I'd threatened everyone (in an email) with violence if they talked the pub into giving me free (day old) cake and singing happy birthday to me in the middle of the restaurant (I hate that shit).

"Oh, no!" I replied. "I'm not mad at you at all, but we must split this five ways!" The "this" I was referring to was a teeny, tiny peanut butter and chocolate cupcake. Split it, my ass! I ate it in two bites after having a hard cider (just one) and some sweet potato fries (sinful but so good). The others had drinks and grub as well and all seemed to enjoy. But they refused to let me pay (gawddimmit). I felt very special and all birthday-girl-like, especially when we decided to go get more cupcakes (birthdays are perfect excuses for everyone to eat like we all wish we could every day).

hit the "funky" setting on my camera and got this fabulous shot!...

and another one...

Manhattan Beach Pier under blue skies...

I can't remember the name of the shop, but the cupcakes were Crack laced with LSD. The girls got some "hot chocolate" flavor bomb, Jordan got a strawberry cheesecake, I got a salted caramel (not as good as the peanut butter chocolate), and Bob got a miniature, bit-sized snowball cupcake. I was going to totally give him shit for getting the smallest cupcake in the group, but he had been so sweet to me all day, I decided I'd save the torture...er...teasing for our next ride (snicker).

Bob with the Crack pusher (Jordan) at the Crack Dealer...

the Crack...

peer pressure & group usage (I see a PA in here somewhere)...

After that, we had to ride 16 miles back - a long 16 miles, filled with more beach-goers, dumbasses, idiots and pranksters than I have ever seen on The Strand. There were just too many folks out! There were also parties, a wedding, a marching band and a Hindu festival to boot. It's a miracle none of us got knocked off our bikes.

heading home...high as a kite....just before dropping Jordan off...

wow, just wow...

no, really...wow!...

We'd bid Jordan farewell back in Manhattan Beach, so it was just the four of us. Guess who hung back with me? Got to give the man credit - his patience is almost a religion, I swear! (wait...is that blasphemy?) Not only was it windy and the path full of obstacles, but I was whining the whole way back too. I was tired! I'd had a very upset stomach the day before (a touch of food poisoning, I believe) and the sun was getting to me. Not that I'm complaining about the weather. Yesterday was stunning beyond belief! (which is why there were so many of us rift-rafters down on The Strand to begin with).

Fortunately, we all made it back to the cars safe and sound. Bob and I bid the girls good bye (I cancelled on them for evening plans as I was just too wiped out to do anything else for the day) and back to the valley through bumper-to-bumper traffic we traveled. I couldn't thank Bob enough for driving. He dropped me off and bid me farewell with a smile and from there...I'm sure you can guess. Let's just say, I'm well rested today! (9 hours of sleep = delicious!)

final shot of the day....I was (and am) so grateful...

Fantastic day! I was so lucky to have such wonderful friends to share it with - and by bike! Pinch me. I hope the trend continues. And next weekend, I hope to have more miles to report - maybe even 50??? Wow! That would be so unusual these days, huh? (sigh). I'm being facetious. Unless it rains (which it's predicted to do), my ass will be on a bike. After all, I now have another year to get better...or, at the very least, just get...to it.

back in the saddle

2012-02-25T18:47:00.009-08:00

Today, while out riding, I told Bob that I was going to blog (write an entry in my blog) tonight.

"You have a blog?" he asked.

"Smart-ass," I replied with a slight sneer. "It's been like two weeks since I've written." - and ridden.

"More like three weeks," he said, flashing that full grin of his. He did/does have a point.

I've missed writing as well as riding. But I've been nowhere near a bike in the last (gulp) three weeks, so I had nothing to say on here (I've decided no one needs to hear my non-riding personal shit). I think I should change the title on this blog to: "MyDogParty...2012...[please, for the love of God] bring it." I need me some miles! With that said, I got some today. Not many, but just enough.

In Toluca Lake following Bob...

Heading to Forest Lawn, past the studios...

Poor Bob - this morning, he had to put up with my scrambling around to find my Sidis and my helmet (both of which I thought were in my car; they were) and my nose (which was, in fact, attached to my face) all while I snapped at him for not being able to find stuff in the still-messy back seat (as if it were his fault!). He had waited patiently on my curb ready to roll right at 8:15am before rolling up into my driveway to my car to see what the hell I was doing (and cursing over). We did not take off to pedal until closer to 9:00am due to my fiddle farting around and throwing a temper tantrum. Bob is a patient, kind soul is all I can say. And I'm terribly lucky to have him as my good friend and riding buddy.

Into Griffith Park...I've missed it!...

and the jacket comes off on Trash Truck Hill...

He could have dropped me today easily but he hung with me to Griffith Park, up Trash Truck Hill (the bitch) and around the park. We would have climbed the canyons had an elderly (albeit amazingly athletic) runner not passed me at the top of the hill. Yes, you read that right - a runner passed and dropped me on the climb up Trash Truck Hill in Griffith Park. I wouldn't admit that on here (or anywhere) except for both my sense of humor and my respect for my fellow athletes. That man rocked his 1980s runner shorts! And I humbly acknowledged to Bob my defeat. This convinced Bob (and finally me) to skip the canyons and make it a 30 mile or under day.

I would play "Can You Spot Bob" - but really, is it necessary?...

Dude is an animal! - he totally shined, passed and dropped me on my bike!...

many riders out today...

my favorite (and patient) rider...

about to pass my sorry ass...

yes...I was there...

heading to the bike path on Riverside Drive...

Bob's a smart man. On the bike path home, I felt it. Yup...a mere 16 miles at that point and I was hurting. I'm not going to snivel on here though. Nor am I going to point out that my jersey and shorts are so much tighter than they were even after the holidays (after I'd eaten to my heart's content). I'm just going to accept my plight and then...improve it. I say that a lot and have nothing to back it. So, you're just gonna have to take my word on it.

the next four photos are Bob's attempts to amuse himself
while I was on a necessary call this morning...

Bob promised me a "harder" ride next Saturday. If I can just limp out 50 miles, I'll gain my confidence back. Next week (Monday - Friday), I'm hitting the gym hard and getting my routine back. I've been moving from one apartment to another, by the way. And that has been my dilemma, downfall and Achilles Heel.

this bridge never gets old...

heading home...

Moving always sucks, but due to my landlord trauma (note: not drama; trauma) in fall 2010, this move has proven emotional (as in - moving to a new place & worrying I'll be victimized all over again). I've been on edge, suspicious and crazy paranoid. Since moving in last Sunday, I've seen shadows even in well-lit corners and heard whispers where there should only be silence...which is a pity. My new place is lovely beyond belief. It's the largest apartment I've ever lived in and has such charm, light, warmth, great neighbors and a very sweet, normal landlord. My fears are unfounded.

I'm still unpacking and sorting and decorating, so no photos to share. But soon, I'll have many to post on here. I know Dad, Mom and JT will want to see the place. Dad and JT will love it when they visit in the coming years (Mom won't since she doesn't fly anymore). I hope to live here a very long time. But it took me until today and something very odd to finally convince me to chill out with the paranoia. I'm not going into it except to say that no one in the last decade has shot a bullet or BB gun pellet through my bathroom window. Please don't ask.

Tomorrow, I hike and (maybe) ride Nellie in the hood. Next weekend, more riding. My turmoil is calming down again and, yippee!, I'm back in the saddle. Man, did I miss my bike. I missed writing on this blog too. Hopefully, my (forced) respite is over and I'll have so much more to say (and report) in the months ahead.

pinch me

2012-02-05T17:49:00.000-08:00

It's been three weeks since I last wrote and for reasons too mundane to list. 2012, and all its many ambitions, fizzled long before I'd have bet it (and they) would have. Instead of floating high into the clouds, it has fizzled like a deflated balloon that's dropped onto some banal sidewalk, defeated. That does not mean that I can't pick it back up and breathe the "New Year" back into it (after washing it off, of course). But given the sequence of events and the conflict I struggle with (not going into it)...I think I'll leave that balloon neglected on the sidewalk for a little while longer; at least, until I get my bearings.

I've had some apartment issues of late, serious ones. There is mold in the unit and I must (immediately) leave. Asthma and mold are a no-no, and I'm not sure my current landlord truly understands this. The mold has developed from water damage after recent rain storms in southern California. I reported the leak in the kitchen ceiling and the full-of-water light fixture the morning I discovered it (just after it had rained). My apartment manager (whom I truly do like) did nothing about it for five days.

I'm not mean enough to call the landlord and snitch on the manager, but I'm fairly certain that the manager should have acted sooner. The walls in my kitchen have now developed tons of water bubbles and a distinct odor of mildew is emitting from my bathroom wall, the one that is directly behind the water-logged kitchen wall. It doesn't take a detective or sonar device to figure out that mold is a growin'. The rain storm was three weeks ago. This is not going to bode well for the landlord.

As luck would have it...it worked out swimmingly for the tenant (that'd be me). Once I finally got my current manager over here to smell my bathroom wall (nothing odder than saying to your apartment manager, "I need you to come sniff it."), I finally realized that I had to get out of here...ASAP! I do not want to deal with being displaced from my home once the demolition starts. Those walls are going to have to be torn down, or at the very least, ripped open. Boo and I cannot take the dust, noise and inconvenience. And we sure can't handle mold. We need to move!

new living room with 10' high vaulted ceiling & that's a huge
enclosed porch overlooking the pool out back

the patio which is HUGE. The manager was so sweet and let me keep (borrow)
that darling table/chair set. I told him he could leave it if he needed a place to store it
and I'd use it (and take care of it). He liked that idea. Very sweet fella.

the dining room (which has a window as does the kitchen); the place is 1,000 sq ft

How am I lucky about that? - you might ask. Cause "need to move" meant a match being lit under my procrastinating ass. I jumped on Craig's list and called the number listed in the very first promising apartment ad. Lo and behold, the universe does work in mysterious ways! From that first phone call to my signing the lease for the new digs and getting my current landlord to agree to let me go in two weeks (versus a by-law 30-day notice), it has been serendipity aplenty.

the kitchen is an open floor plan to the dining room with a breakfast bar

and another angle - it's much bigger than these photos show - tons of cabinets!

I'm too tired and too stressed with the prospect of needing to pack to describe the new place to it's fullest in this entry. So, I've put up some pics of it empty (the carpets and some other things still need to be done before I move in, but honestly, the pics don't do the place justice with respect to size and beauty). When I'm in and it's decorated, I'll post more (for my family's enjoyment more than anyone else). This new apartment is outright lovely, I'll say that much, and warm, full of light, peaceful...the list goes on. The apartment manager over there is extremely nice as well and cares about the building (his family owns it). He saw an excellent tenant, thankfully, and he won't be disappointed. I am fairly certain it is a place I will love to live for many years to come. Can't wait to get moved in!

looking into the bedroom - that wood paneling was put on by the former tenant.
I'm so glad the owner didn't remove it! Gives the room a different feel.
Again - the room is way bigger than the photo shows.

looking back toward the door in the bedroom. That closet is just one of
FIVE, FULL SIZED closets - a woman's dream come true!!!

Which leads me to cycling. You know? That thing one does when one pedals. I think I've forgotten how. I'm being facetious but, honestly, my cycling has dwindled due to so many reasons (not going into it) and this move is just going to push it to the wayside a little longer (two weeks to be exact). I need to move, can't wait to move. I need to ride, can't wait to ride. I'm sure you can guess which need is going to be met first.

I've never had this much counter space in a bathroom before! The building was built
in the 1960s, so very solid. The owner has kept all the original materials.
Funky and spacious - with separate tub and shower!

I'm going to be grumpy in the next two-three weeks, cause no way, no how can I ride (for any longer than an hour.5) until I'm settled into my new home. I'll cope but I warn everyone - I'm a pressure cooker at present; approach me with caution! As for the move (and certainly once I'm settled)...pinch me.

humor is a panacea

2012-01-16T17:56:00.000-08:00

What is this? Week three of 2012 - mid January? Already, I've slid on back down the sides of that dumpster I've been dwelling in for the last two months. Those sides, it appears, are oily, thick with black goo, slick and greasy. Sliding back down them into my patterns of laziness and "I'll start tomorrow" was so, so easy. It would take far more effort to climb out, get the stench off (and out) and start over again.

In case you have no clue what the hell I'm talking about, I'm metaphorizing my attempts at getting my cycling back up and rolling and my fitness on track for the new year. I have big plans in 2012, ones I'm determined to keep, but I can't do so if I don't kick start my training once and for all. And from one week to the next, the momentum coughed, choked and died.

Part of it (most of it) is in my head. I over think and can't see past the end of my nose let alone the bigger picture. Two Saturdays ago, I rode with Bob on a route that was tough for sure, but I endured and impressed myself. Then, last week, Monday through Friday, when I promised myself I'd work out every day and eat healthy, my efforts puttered out within two days. Mostly, I walked for exercise, only reporting to the gym one day, and that workout was middling at best. There are all sorts of reasons (excuses) as to why this happened, but none of them are worth sharing.

Then, this past Saturday, I had a ride planned. First, it was a solo 50 mile route on my mountain bike. That changed when GT emailed me, asking if I wanted to ride up Stunt Road with him. Two days later, he had to cancel (for very good reasons). With my heart set on Stunt, I lost the desire to ride on dirt all by myself (not to mention that Nellie needs a tune-up desperately).

In the past when ride plans/partners changed, my inner cyclist would kick me hard in the ribs repeatedly, forcing me to ride whatever route on which my heart was set. But at present, she has no kick left in her. I can't blame the poor girl. She's been horribly neglected, at times completely ignored, and sits somewhere within me eating Cheetos, drinking PBR and playing video games on the Xbox. Frightening but true, she couldn't give a shit anymore if I get out on my bike, and this in turn has depressed me terribly (not that I don't deserve it!).

So, instead of riding this past Saturday, I went hiking. Nothing wrong with that except that it isn't in keeping with my goal to get my cycling fitness back. Plus, I had a meltdown (actually before the hike). I realized that I haven't ridden up Mt. Baldy in two years and this just about sent me jumping off the ledge (from my kitchen window and down to the parking lot below would likely only result in a broken ankle, so I wasn't all that serious). Not only was I distressed to not have ridden it, I was downright hysterical over the hard, cold fact that I couldn't ride up that mountain at present even if someone rode alongside me with a cow prod. Yes...I'm that out of cycling shape.

my riding partners beneath a gorgeous So Cal sky...

it just got prettier...

the palm trees never get old...

Flash forward to yesterday, when I rode with Bob and his friend, Fred. I was graciously invited along on their two-man torture fest from Sherman Oaks, out along Ventura, up Mulholland, down Nichols Canyon, back up, out to Sepulveda Blvd. and home. It's only 26 miles but, good Lord, is it painful! I've ridden it before (at least three years ago) and not in its entirety (no Nichols Canyon before), so I thought it would be tough but not that tough. Were I in some form of riding shape that was somewhere near fit, it likely would not have been. But now? It damned near killed me.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning. Bob parked in my driveway and we took off into the bone-chilling morning air to meet Fred just down the street. Fred is a tall, lean cyclist...with long legs. The moment I saw him, I knew I was in trouble. Bob had already told me that Fred had a time constraint. Translated from male vocabulary, he meant "you'd better move your ass." Sadly, the ass I had on me yesterday was not easy to move. My legs, the primary ass-movers, were in no mood and, quite literally, quit on me once I'd chased the men down (and slightly up) Ventura to where Mulholland begins.

barely hanging on their back wheels...

heading toward Universal City...

Those skies!...

no, really...

The climb up Mulholland from Barham sucks it. I'm not kidding, either. It's stupid steep, wears out its welcome quickly, and for this out-of-shape cyclist, was just cruel. Bob and Fred flew up it, dropping me like a...(oh, you know). I pedaled in my granny panties, sweating in the cold, wheezing and miserable. I stopped briefly at one point to pull off my full-fingered gloves. Hot fingers are beyond annoying! I also needed that brief break to catch my breath. It was here that I began sobbing.

Likely, I should never admit on here when I cry for no damn good reason. But my sense of humor is one that allows me to take my most pathetic moments and expose them like overly-lit porn. Only then do I revel in my gracelessness enough to somewhat make up for it...somewhat. Yesterday, on Mulholland, I was a mess. Crying never does me any good in these instances, especially when I'm already full of snot, and when it's cold enough outside to freeze that snot to the inside of my nostrils. I'm sure I looked a pitiful mess when I finally caught up to the guys at the top.

almost to Barham and Mulholland...

Up Mulholland..
Ouch...is all...

"Heyyyyyy," Bob said, smiling his usual bright smile, not looking as if he'd suffered at all up that hill even though he'd ran nearly 13 miles the day before. "Ready for Nichols?"

I grimaced back, hoping it would be interpreted as a smile. "I'm going to skip Nichols Canyon," I panted. "You boys go ahead and I'll wait for you here."

"No. You're going down it and back up it." Bob smiled again, just as brightly as he had before.

Bob, whom I have gotten to know over the last year, love and respect and am so grateful to have as a friend and loyal riding buddy, has yet to deal with my nasty, Irish temper. I'm not sure I will ever unleash it on him, because he is just too easy-going and mellow to bring it out of me. But standing on Mulholland with him and Fred staring at me expectantly, I felt my blood beginning to boil. It was "quit there and ride home to lick my wounds" or "HTFU and STFU and ride your damn bike." Which do you think I did?

Nichols Canyon, by the way, is lovely. It goes way, way down to Hollywood Blvd. at the bottom. We stopped just before that, turned around and began the climb back up. It was here that the sniveling sad sack disappeared. I can't say my inner cyclist appeared (she didn't) but I do believe I got her attention long enough to get her to turn off the Xbox.

Nichols Canyon...

Can you spot Bob? (snicker)...

there he is!...

At the top of Nichols is a very steep section to climb (note here, the road is not called Nichols at the top, but I can't remember the name). I tacked it mostly but didn't necessarily suffer, and the best part is that I wasn't that far behind the men. This helped me regain my composure.

"I loved that canyon, thank you, Fred!"

"Oh, you're welcome," he replied. "It's a good one."

"Have you ever ridden Stunt Road?" I asked him. Leave it to me to throw out a tough ride I've ridden to somehow divert attention from my lackadaisical efforts! I can only imagine that Bob had to have snickered at this, but I never turned to see.

The rest of our journey was on Mulholland. If you've not ridden that, you should (assuming you ride). It's so beautiful up there, and yesterday in particular, the skies were amazing. Lots of riders were up there, including the La Grange crowd. Many of those riders are courteous and fantastic, but some are a-holes! I saw a huge group completely fly through a red light that they should not have. And they did it brazenly!

There was a "La-hooser" moment when I pulled up to the stoplight at Laurel Canyon. Bob and Fred had already crossed and were waiting on me when I stopped behind a very nice group of male cyclists (not sure if they were La Grange or not). As the light turned yellow on the other side, I pulled over into the right hand turn lane to take off immediately when the light changed to green so as to pull to the right of the male cyclists. The light never turned green, so I stopped, confused, in the turn lane.

As luck would have it, a car pulled up and honked at me to move out of the turn lane. So, I moved to the left to let the car turn. Then, a motorist in an SUV turning left on Mulholland scolded me ("Duh! That's a turn lane, you know?"). I stood there with a group of men on my left and two men waiting on me (and witnessing all of this) embarrassed.

"Hey, guys?" I asked the group of cyclists. "Doesn't this light turn green for us?"

"Did you push the button?" was the reply I received.

I had to laugh at this. Any other time, I'd likely have lost my temper, but not yesterday. I already felt like such a loser for my pitiful efforts and making the men wait. Here I was, stopped at a red light, half-way in the turn lane, being honked at, scolded and spoken to as if I was just downright dense - when in fact, those dumbasses were there a good 15-20 seconds before I was! Why the hell didn't one of them push the button?! (smacking forehead)

the valley beneath those skies from heaven...

more climbing on Mulholland...

final stretch back...

Humor is a panacea for sure - and yesterday, I finally got my attitude in check by simply laughing at it all. It's just a ride, for God's sake! - and a good one at that! I was dying on the last few miles back. Fred had to bid us farewell early (look forward to riding with that sweet man again), but Bob and I finished the route in its entirety. My legs are still shot today! I hiked (yes, again) this morning and could feel the climbing punishment left in them. Secretly, I dug it. After all, I need it!

Next week, rain is in the forecast. Bob has already managed my expectations but encouraging me to ride my trainer if we can't ride outdoors. Lucky am I to have such a good (and patient) friend to rely on in the next few months. I know myself well and this weekend's melodrama will likely be repeated at least one more time this year. That's okay. As long as I keep working toward that ride up Baldy, the rest will come. I must just remember to keep laughing at it all between now and then.