Got home from work on Saturday. N, the youngest boy, says, “Hey Dad, how ’bout running around the block with me?”
Awesome.
Got home from work on Saturday. N, the youngest boy, says, “Hey Dad, how ’bout running around the block with me?”
Awesome.
Friday wasn’t quite a work day – had some admin to take care of in Newport first thing in the morning, but made it back to Mystic in time to take another ride with my lovely wife, who’s starting to ride. And was reminded again of why I love riding in rural Connecticut.
Out of the house, and within 20 minutes, we’re on thin, low-traffic two lane, surrounded by walls of Connecticut’s state flower, granite, and bucolic bovines.
Rode easy for two hours, fog rolled in off of Fisher’s Island Sound, and back home to meet the kids after school.
I threw in another 4 miles up to the top of the hill near the house. Feeling pretty good, but dreading the last long runs before Vermont City.
Three days into May and I’m still biking to work. Not dead yet.
No great insights yet. But I’m loving something to be relentlessly positive about for 31 days. Easy to do that with bikes, spring, and New England. Winter appears to be defeated for another six months.
I’ve also developed a new Internet crush – BikeyFace. Boston based, funny, bikes. Awesome.
Training for the Vermont City marathon is going … well, it’s going. It’s kind of been nice – my goal has been to just actually run the marathon, rather than getting wrapped up with trying to hit a time goal or anything like that. So, I’ve just been running. Which is nice.
I’m still up in the air as to the marathon being a good idea or not, but it’s registered, paid for, and less than a month away, so I’m kind of committed now. I’m happy about it – two more twenties, then taper, then run. Ought to be good.
Wrinkle in the plan, however, is the Gran Fondo NYC – 100 miles on the bike the week before the marathon. Steve R. and I headed out for 50 miles this weekend, felt pretty good, so I think that I’ll survive. I do, however, need to make sure to take advantage of “Bike to Work” month and ride.
So, I did this morning, despite rain. Felt great to be out in solid spring weather. Looking forward to another two weeks, then some travel, and a solid final week.
Got my eyes dilated at the optometrist this afternoon. So, no staring at a screen for the rest of the afternoon. Plus, it’s about 5 when I’m done. Hour of twilight left. Hey, why not take the long way home?
Smugness quotient was in full effect this evening. There was a wreck on IH-95 headed north, so CT-184 was bumper-to-bumper all the way from the Gold Star bridge to Mystic. Went under the interstate by the reservoir – Standstill. And US 1 was also at a standstill. Only had one driver be a jerk and squeeze me off of the road as I passed on the right.
I dropped onto the two-track at Bluff Point. Did the loop, tore through Haley Farm. I couldn’t see squat. It was awesome. Somehow, being dilated and not really being able to see gave me mystical abilities to pick lines – man, I had FLOW going. Almost like Douglas Adams’ mythical Peril Sensitive Sunglasses – I just felt the trail.
Man, it just felt good. Dragged along the Amtrak right of way, didn’t have to dab a foot coming onto the pedestrian bridge, and threaded the gate into Haley Farm. Turns out I pulled a couple of mountain bikers back to the parking lots – no lights on them. They scared the crap out of me. But it was pretty cool – love me some cyclists.
Then up Brook Street, down 117 to downtown, and home along River Road.
All in all, the bike’s been berry, berry good to me. Love the commute.
So, Contador is officially a doper. I’d be happy, ‘cept, not really.
On one hand, I’m happy he’s busted – that cycling has absolutely the most aggressive no tolerance policy in all of sport is something to be touted, especially after the legacy of the 80s and 90s.
On the other hand, the CAS case against Contador’s especially weak – it doesn’t make a clean case that Contador was systematic doping, leaves open the possibility that it really was contaminated meat, and doesn’t make any accommodation for 18 months of racing, lots of testing, and winning freakin’ two grand tours, really decisively in the case of the 2011 Giro.
24 months seems to be the CAS’ standard sentence for a doping positive. So, it’s not surprising that Contador got the standard.
On the other hand, CAS left itself open to the counter charge that it’s screwing Contador just to make an example. In which case I’m disappointed – The amount of clenbuterol in his system is a tribute to our ability to detect minute concentrations of anything. Stripping him of two titles earned under extremely close scrutiny serves only to throw closer scrutiny on the existing cycling anti-doping efforts, and impugns every other cyclist currently riding.
That it took almost two years to come to this decision, during which Contador continued to ride under threat of having results overturned, keeping the entire sport in limbo, is an indictment of CAS process. Justice delayed is justice denied. For a career that really spans from about 24 to 34 for most Grand Tour contenders, two years means that there’s going to be a lot of asterixes as drug tests continue to improve.
I still don’t like Contador, but he’s getting screwed. He deserves something for popping positive, but two tours stripped, two years late? Not justice.
Update – The long arm of Justice is still reaching out for Armstrong – WADA requested the evidience the US Grand Jury accumulated while looking for Fraud at US Postal.
We’re having a really, really late Indian Summer (Indian Spring?) this week. Nine inches of snow this weekend (My lovely wife insists it was only six, but since when did women have a good judge for size?), all completely gone and almost 40 degrees this morning when I woke up. No excuse not to ride the bike, right?
So, I did, and what a difference it made. 28 and a half minutes for the 7 miles into work, clean lungs, and the best parking spot in the building.
Run on Purpose had a good post this morning on maintaining mental state for getting out the door:
One of the things I talk with my oldest son about is the remote control idea to discipline. As any older brother he gets his fair share of being tested by his younger brother. We often talk about who has control of his emotions. Does he give the remote control of his emotions to his brother or does he take charge.
I’ve used a simlar strategy with my boys, but hadn’t taken at as far as ROP does – and to be fair, the weather, or work, or any number of things get my remote more often than I’d care to admit. One thing I really admire about my lovely wife is that she’s in complete charge of her remote – doesn’t do a thing unless it’s on her plan, or in line with whatever she wants to accomplish in a given day. Wish that I had a tenth of her willpower on crap like that.
I bottled the Tri-Pale Ale this weekend. The bottling part went smoothly – boil some Dry Malt Extract, add it to the wort, siphon into bottles, and then cap. What I’d forgotten was how much of a pain in the butt cleaning bottles was. Luckily, in addition to those that I’d been squirreling away for the last couple of months, I’d been donated some large Grolsh-style bottles. Put on new washers, and, man, how easy is that? These are meant to be shared…
Next batch is teed up, too – my wonderful Mother-In-Law gave me a pilsner kit for Christmas; need to get on that while the basement is chilly. So, I took 4 ounces of light dry malt extract last night, boiled them up, cooled them down, and pitched the White Labs Pilsner Yeast that came with the kit. Largely a precautionary step, but, having been a while since I’ve brewed, I forgot to refrigerate the yeast when the kit arrived, so it’s also an opportunity to go get more yeast if it’s not viable. We’ll know in the morning, but signs are hopeful. The tube of yeast smelled great, and was under pretty good positive pressure when I opened it, so if the starter is bubbling happily today, everything is copacetic.
Winter is making me her snitch. Short days, a little dose of Seasonally Affected Disorder, busy at work, and a lack of give a crap make it easy to fall off the wagon.
Can’t let it happen. Just can’t.
So, I jumped on the treadmill again. J., the oldest, had swim; I drove and ran. Broke out the heart rate monitor, set the treadmill for 7 MPH, and hung on at 80% for 35 minutes. I was actually pretty pleased – in the past, the mill has slowed me way down after about 20 minutes to keep my heart rate down; tonite I just kept cruising.
Eating isn’t quite the struggle that it has ben, but I haven’t been hitting the physical hard the last couple of weeks. Need to pick it up – four months until Gran Fondo NYC, not much more until Vermont City.
Internet, I’ve been in a funk lately. Partially weather driven, partially work driven, mostly slacker-induced. But I think I’ve turned the corner tonight. First run in a week or so.
Instead of sitting my butt on the couch after 12 hours at the office tonite, and another hour of work pending for the part-time job, I watched Dr. Who (Dum da dum, Dr. Whoo-ooh, dum da dum) while cranking out a couple of miles on the treadmill.
And that, for the hour or so I had the endorphin high, seems to have made all the distance.
Still haven’t biked to work in 2012. Which is a serious case of needing some Rule 5 (and missing out on Rule 9). New self sealing tubes in the commuter last night, which was ironic, ’cause the Cage (car) needed some air in the tires in the 15F this morning.
I’m still spun up about the runner who was killed by a careless driver in my folks’ neighborhood last week. In that vein, it doesn’t help to hear that a cricketer in Australia’s the latest to pick up the “Get off the road, geeks” mantle. The Sydney Morning Herald has a good take on it, though:
The important concept that non-cyclists often ignore is that we are all road users. … I also see a consistent improvement in the consideration they show for cyclists. Every year, there is a noticeable improvement in courtesy, patience and a general awareness of riders as valid road users, and for this I am very grateful.
Cyclists need to be beyond reproach in our use of the road to maintain the respect of motorists. But I would also love for every registered driver in Melbourne to ride a bike to and from work every day for a week.
OK, I’m harshing my mellow – need to accentuate the positive. Life’s good, winter will someday end, I’ve got a frame I love. We’ll end with some gratuitous nakedness:
If you’re lucky, I’ll show some closeups and soft focus on the rear dropouts later.