More Evidence That Time Trials are for Wussies

It’s true: This week I made a personal discovery that time trials are ideal for those who want to ride fast, but are too soft to suffer.  Now,  hold on a sec – before you girly-man time-trialers get your panties in a bunch.  let me clarify.  I am not saying that all time-trialers are wussies.  I am only saying that there is evidence that time-trials are good for wussies. (Note that the focus is on the time trial, not the time-trialer.) …and that girly-man time-trialers wear panties.  Of course, if you do not wear panties, you are unlikely to be a girly-man. (Again, watch for focus people.)  Anyway, let me tell you what happened.

Some of you may know that I have been taking part in a study at Stanford University which apparently is testing the effects of bicycling with one really cold hand.  Yep, you read that right.  But that is another story.  Anyway, to date I have gone through a VO2-max test, a Lactate Threshold test, and two time trials.  The interesting results of the time trials are what I want to share with you.

The time trials are completed indoors on a Velotron Dynafit Pro bike.  It is connected to a computer which measures heart rate, body core temperature, cadence, speed, and all the rest.  During the test blood is drawn every 5 minutes to measure blood lactate.   The lucky user (me) self-selects cadence and resistance, but does not get to see any of the vital stats except heart rate.  After the tests though, we do get to see the blood lactate readings. 

Knowing that pacing is critical to a good time trial,  during the first test I went out easy.  I rode a fast pace, but didn’t particularly strain myself.   About five minutes into it (at my first blood lactate draw), the tester says to me, “can you see your heart rate?”  It was at 140 bpm.  This is pretty darn low – about 75% of my max.  I took his statement to mean, “WTF.  You need to go harder, dude!”   I know by feel how hard I was working, and I was doing a good pace.  My plan was to slowly ramp it up.  Besides, he was making me ride for an hour on a stationary bike with no floor fan, a tube up my nose and down the back of my throat, all the while sticking me with needles.  I figured, I didn’t owe him anything. 

Ten minutes into it I was going hard.  At fifteen, I was going at what I felt was my full TT pace.  My heart rate was a higher than expected at 170 bpm (90% of max), and I really had to dig to keep the power and cadence steady.   It felt quite hard, but I was up for the punishment.  I maintained this pace by digging whenever I needed to, and drinking whenever possible.  I wanted to quit on a few occasions, but instead I cut the resistance back just enough so I could continue a consistent cadence.  My heart rate was pretty steady at 172-175 bpm for the last 30 minutes.  It was all I had, but I finished in 59:08.  I was cooked (literally), and quickly got to the job of replenishing the 3 pounds of water I had lost during that hour.  

Looking back on day one’s blood lactate measurement, I noted that I actually had started pretty hard.  Despite showing a relatively low heart rate, by minute ten and fifteen I was at 6 mmol/l.  This is above what I would expect, and beyond what I could sustain.  Over the whole test, I averaged about 5 mmol/l, which appears to be consistent with the previous week’s lactate threshold test.

Test two was going to be a different story though.  I was a bit tired, and did not feel like suffering.  Besides, my blood lactate levels showed that I went out too hard, so today I was going even easier.  This day, the first 10 minutes were around 140 heart rate, the next ten around 160, and I was at 170 by minute 30.  Note that I never increased my resistance or cadence.  I went out at a reasonable pace, and just held it there.  Over time, my heart rate creeped up and my perceived effort increased.  Although I was going good, I never felt like I was drilling it.  I never “red-lined,” or otherwise had to dig deep.  I just rode it.  I should note that around minute 45, I felt sick to my stomach.  It could have been dehydration, but I was also acutely aware of that stupid temperature gauge shoved up my nose tickling the insides of my stomach.  I pressed on nonetheless.

I finished in 55:11.  Four minutes faster than the previous week!  If you know time trials, you know that four minutes is a huge improvement.  My blood lactate showed that I was at 3.5 at minute 5, and about 4 to 4.5 the rest of the ride.

So what did I learn? 

1. Do not set the pace based on a single heart rate.  
2. Don’t go over your Lactate Threshold, ever.
3. To be fast over 60 minutes, don’t strain yourself.  Ride like you want to get there fast, but not like you really want to get there fast.

Now that you know the details, let’s go back to where we were at the beginning of this blog.  Remember back when you were pissed off at me for all those things I said, that I really didn’t say?  Well, now you know why I said that there was evidence that time trials are for wussies.  If you happen to be a wussy and are genetically gifted, then you probably love time trials.  You probably even ride them faster than the “hard men,” because while they are pouring their guts out, you are riding easy and whining, “…but it just hurts too much when I go harder.” 

NCNCA Masters Championships Road Race - Someone have a spare shoe?

Race: NCNCA Masters Championships Road Race

Imagine racing with one broken cleat, yet finishing your best ever. Check it out…

Representing the San Jose Bike Club in the 40+ race was Chris Wire and I. Chris’ job was to keep an eye on the strongmen, and mine was to help where I can. Unfortunately, within the first 4 miles my right cleat broke. Why couldn’t this happen during my warm-up? Why not during training? Ugh. 95 degrees, no shade and 52 miles (5 laps) left to go.

First time up the main climb, my right foot popped out of pedal and slammed my leg. Ouch. Imagine me trying to power climb without standing up. You guessed it, back I drifted. I struggled to stay connected while the field split apart. The field was immediately whittled down to 21. I was number 21.

The attacks came and came. I could not respond at all. My foot was flying out of the pedal, my crank hitting my leg, and my attitude getting worse and worse. Luckily, about nine studs take off (including Chris) in little groups, which leaves 12 guys for me to deal with. I am convinced I cannot finish with a broken cleat, so at the feed zone I yell to Laura, “Right Shoe!” I actually had a long description to give her on what the problem was, and where to find the shoe, but only had enough time to get two words out.

Second time up the climb I get dropped with two others but chase and chase. I cannot stand up at all now and am starting to whine like a baby.

At the feed, Jeremy Wire gives me a life-saving hand up of water (It is so freaking hot I am drinking almost 2 bottles every 1/2 hour!), and Laura gives me a race-saving hand up of a shoe. How cool is that?! Shoe goes directly in my mouth while I try and figure out how to switch them. It hurt a bit to pedal barefoot on Speedplay pedals while the other guys continued the chase but I was able to hang on. I toss the broken shoe.

We finally catch on along the run-in to the third climb. Four more guys are off the back of our pack. Now we are down to eight guys, and racing for tenth place. Third and fourth climbs are fine. I can now stand up, accelerate at will, and am feeling OK despite the heat. I can tell at least 6 or 7 guys are really suffering. I am even able to keep up with Dominic Giampaolo (Alto Velo), who is a great climber and has always torn me inside out.

On the fifth lap, we catch two guys who have fallen back. Our field is up to ten and we are racing for eighth place. This is the best situation I have ever been in at this race. Jeremy and Laura continued their hand ups and I keep drinking and pouring water on myself.

I am feeling fine. I go hard on the last climb.

Two Zenn Racing Team guys go with me. Chris Ott and Scott Fonseca. Scott drops me and I drop Chris. The remaining field is far back. Scott solo’s in the last 5 miles for 8th, while I solo in for 9th. Tired, but really satisfied!

Panoche Road Race

Panoche was quite an experience!  It started hot, and then got hotter.  Word is that it ranged anywhere from 100 to 107 on the pavement.  Totally insane. 

Greg Bloom announced before the race, “We have a follow car.  One of you is going to crack today.  When that happens we can pick you up.  Do not push yourself into heat exhaustion.  Pull over and as a reward you get to ride in air conditioned car!”  Great announcement, and definitely true.

I rode the race in the E3s.  We did the 67 mile race.  That means 3.5 hours in the heat.  (Perfect for barbequing ribs.  That long, and the meat just falls off the bone.)

Normally the crosswind section is where the race shatters.  Today though, there was little wind, so it wasn’t hard.  Since in the E3s everyone is closely matched, we had the entire field still present at the turnaround.  I decided to make a move.  This was probably my only good chance. There was one guy off the front about 100 yards.  This guy was a hammer, so I decided to bridge to him on the climb just past the turnaround.  I made it across, but so did 10 others.  This is where I started to feel the first indications of falling apart.  Nothing serious; just a slight shortness of breath, and a general feeling of weakness.  My real concern was that this was happening with 33 miles left to ride.  

The 12 of us started pacelining to keep the field broken apart.  After about 5 minutes I couldn’t help out.  I was hyperventilating and could feel my heart pounding.  What the hell is happening?!  I dumped water on my head and shoulders and drank some more.  (I had been doing this all day, but needed it again.)  I sat in.  15 minutes later, I had a runner’s cramp (you know that stitch in your side).  I couldn’t do anything to deal with any attacks.  I was just trying to hang on the back and make it home.  Then the attacks started in earnest.

The spirit was willing to chase, but the flesh was weak.  This is something I had never experienced before.  Normally when I crack, my mind makes me WANT to quit.  This time I wanted to ride, but just couldn’t.  Every time I put power down, my lungs felt shallow, I would have this overwhelming sense of “stop pedaling!” and sometimes I actually did!  This is totally out of character for me, but I simply could do nothing more than ride tempo.  Within a few attacks 5 guys got away: one off the front, and four chasers.

The remaining 7 guys completely fell apart.  One by one people were packing it in.  I ended up a solo chaser of the group of four away.  They remained about 100 meters in front of me.  I kept telling myself, “Just catch them, and you get a free ride home.  If you don’t catch them, then you have to ride it all solo.”   This was great motivation because by this point I didn’t care that I was going to get a top 10.  All I wanted to do was get home.

At the last feed zone, I was within 50 meters of them.  Then, one guy looked back and saw me.  Just what I didn’t want.  The four chatted, decided to work together better, and in no time they were gone.   I continued.  I had to change my self-talk to keep the legs moving.   Luckily, I was eventually caught by two guys.  Keith Jordon and Dave Parrish.  We were just riding to finish without being caught by anyone else.  Dave fell apart and dropped off.  Keith and I reluctantly continued.  We caught one of four chasers and went by so fast he couldn’t get on.  It was just Keith and I going for 5th and 6th.

Keith ran out of water. I had 2 swallows left. We figured we were only a few miles from the finish, so he took one, and I the other.   A mile or two later we see the 10k sign.  F#@k! F!, F!, F!, F!, F!  We both were just hating life at this point, and the last thing we wanted to see was that we had another six miles to go.   Six miles might not seem like much, but it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back.  When we finally rolled across the finish Keith gave me 5th (what a guy!) and I rode right to the water station!

I drank water, but was feeling sick to my stomach.  I drank slowly and went to the car for some much needed air conditioning.  I went back to the feed station for a snack and started feeling woozy and a little dizzy.  I was in a bad spot.  I sat in the shade and recovered to a manageable condition within 15 minutes.   Once my faculties returned I noticed that the consensus of the racers was that today was definitely the hardest race this year.

How to become a cycling god.

I have a whole week off for Christmas.  With this new found freedom from work, I have been struggling these last few days on deciding what to do.  Well, this morning I awoke to an epiphany.   Let me preface this with a little background on myself. 

I have been riding and racing bicycles for the last ten years and have had a good time doing it.  Ever since I started riding, a goal of mine was simply to become a cycling god.  Needless to say, this didn’t happen.  This is the type of goal that is easier said than done.  I am not claiming that it is impossible, just that it is not as easy to attain as simply saying it.  Actually, it took me about six months of riding to realize that a less ambitious goal was needed.  I gave up my dreams of the tour, and instead focused on winning local group ride sprints to city limit signs.  But why?  Maybe what was limiting me was not my physical prowess, but my lack of a single-minded focus on attaining my goal.  Or maybe it was my college physiology classes and study of kinesiology (note the fancy word, which shows I am really smart) that lead me down the same path to nowhere that all the traditionalists are headed.  

I have spent a number of years researching physiology, sports psychology, and race tactics, but still have yet to honored with the badge of “mutant” or “genetic freak.”  I am thought of as a racer, but I want more than that.  I want other riders to lament even lining up to race when I pull up to the line.  I want people to secretly wonder if my mother was a cheetah and my father a gorilla.  I want Mothers to hold on to their children when I ride by for fear of them being blown over from my wake.  It seems that I’ll never get there unless I re-think my approach.  

Now, to the epiphany: Why not spend this week fully focused on attaining my long held goal?  “What is different today than yesterday,” you ask?  Let me tell you.  Instead of trying to doing what everyone else does, I will outside the box.  Why rely on the perspective of someone that builds upon the unstable foundation established long ago, when maybe it is a fresh look that is needed.  Heck, if the fundamental training and racing principles established in years past are holding us back, let’s build a new foundation - one which can support the weight of the cycling gods of the future? (myself included, of course) 

Where to start?  At the beginning, of course. 

Einstein is generally regarded as a smart guy.  And from my research, I see that he was an avid cyclist.  (Well, at least I found this picture of him riding a bike.  He seems happy enough, which tells me he must really enjoy it, and hence trains a lot.) Anyway, Einstein is quoted as saying that if he had one hour to save the world, he would put 55 minutes to defining the problem and only 5 minutes to solving the problem.  Now, that is a fresh look.  That is thinking outside the box!Of course, I am not trying to save the world, so I probably don’t need to spend that much time defining the problem.  How complicated can riding a bike fast be when compared with the problem of saving the world?  In perspective, riding fast is easy.  I probably just need to shift into a big gear and turn it over really fast.  At this point you are probably thinking, “It’s not that easy!”

Of course it’s not.  Becoming a cycling god certainly takes more than that.   There are problems with the press, dealing with all the time zone changes from my many international ventures, even the continuous autograph sessions can get to be tedious after a few weeks. But I got it under control. 

You see, I have substantially more time than the hour Einstein was worried about.  Heck, with Christmas vacation, I can devote the rest of the week figuring out what I need to do to reach god-hood and then maybe the weekend to executing it.  I’ll then take a little time off, and then by New Years plan on hiring a press agent and Manager.

Marty McFly once said, “If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.”  Hey, if McFly said it, it must be true.  Of course he had a time machine, which made things a little easier.

World's fugliest $118,000 bike

So, maybe it's the only $118,000 bike, but with the recent stock market activities, I am not sure it is a good investment of my hard-won racing dollars.

Ok, maybe I have not won that much money, and maybe even if the stock market was skyrocketing, I still wouldn't buy the thing.  But for goodness sakes, what idiot would?!?

Not that the 24k gold plating, the Swarovski crystals aren't worth it.  It's just that that stuff is not supposed to even be on a bike!  That's for stuff like necklaces and nipple rings.

Then, to top it all off, the thing is not the prettiest bike in the world either.  Granted, physical beauty shouldn't be used as a measurement for something's value - unless of course, it is completely f-ing useless otherwise!

If you're not convinced, then go for it!  Pick one up, resist the urge to melt the thing down and collect the proceeds from the raw materials, and have a blast watching it hang on its 24k wall mount!   Oh yeh, don't forget to write a check for $118,000.  (I am not sure if shipping is extra, so bring extra checks just in case.)

Hazing Incident at Local University

You probably heard that I was a victim of a hazing incident at the University of Santa Cruz.  It started 4 laps into the University Road Race.  It was the result of a number of brutal attacks from numerous riders.  I really cannot comment on who was taking part, because I just had my head down and was trying to imagine myself in a better place.  I fought back initially by hitting a PR for four minute power levels, but was forced to succumb the very next lap.  I completely fell apart and was summarily dropped on the floor, kicked around by the next group of riders, and then dropped again.   After a few solo laps of the course, I was caught be a group of riders who had likewise been victimized.   I eventually was able to recover from the beating, and finished the race in fine form. 

Special thanks to Laura for handing up water bottles, and to Greg, Chris, Clark, and Todd, for partaking in the madness.  With their presence, it was not a lonely experience.

In case you had not figured it out by now, this was a sanctioned bicycle race, and had nothing to do with any incidents of assault, battery, or physical violence (even if it felt like it).

Cycling Movies

So we've all heard about "Breaking Away," right?  If you haven't, then someone needs to slap your parents.  Not for failing to introduce you to this Oscar winning film, but for raising a child in a such a pitiful and meaningless environment.

As far as films-with-bikes go, nothing beats Breaking Away.  Nonetheless, there are a few that are worth watching.  However, here are three other cycling-related films that I have recently watched.  All are completely different, and all are worth your time.

Triplets of Belleville: This one is about chubby kid who loves riding his bike.  His grandmother trains him and he eventually gets to ride the Tour de France.  He is kidnapped during the race and his skills are used to support a gambling ring.  Sound weird?  Well it is.  But since the movie is animated, you can temporarily suspend your disbelief for the story.  I don't think you'll ever see it on Cartoon Network though.  I am not sure it will hold the attention of a Sponge-Bob loving kid suffering from A.D.D.   It is however, funny, smart, and almost completely without dialog.  What a trip.

2 Seconds: A pro female downhiller loses an important race and consequently her job.  Looking for purpose, she takes a job as a bike courier and meets up with a bike shop owner who was a pro road racer.  Both love cycling.  Our heroine learns from her new mentor the truly important things in life.  If you ride a bike, then you'll relate to this one.

American Flyers:  This one is the only one on my list which is truly about bike racing.  Is about two brothers (one is played by Kevin Costner) who take a road trip to race in Colorado.  The back-story about their family problems and medical issues try to make this a serious film, but falls short.  Watch it for the bike racing.  The rest is just fluff used to tie the cycling scenes together.

Panoche Road Race 2008

Only in exceptional cases do I post race reports.  Panoche Road race was one of those cases.  Why?  Not because I did especially well, but instead because I suffered especially well.

Daryl

Category: Masters 35+, Category 1/2/3

Teammates:  Aaron, Matt B., Andrew, Ramon, Clark, Chris

Weather: Hot, exposed, oven-like.

In case you hadn’t heard, this race was hot as hell.  Riding out, we were about 1/2 hour into it, when I noticed I had nearly finished my first water bottle.  I started to get concerned.  I reminded Aaron, “Keep drinking.”   He was.  I looked down, and noticed he gone through 3/4 of his.  We knew were in for a tough day.

Going out though wasn’t too bad.  Other than the guy running into my rear wheel (which made all kinds of racket), there weren’t any real items of interest.  However, when I saw Dan Martin moving up to the front just before the cross wind section, I knew we were preparing for a tough time.  When hit the cross wind section the race was ON.  It started off really fast, and then got faster!  I was in the gutter trying to echelon without riding too far in the dirt.  This took a certain amount of bravery and stupidity at the same time.  After 2-3 minutes I started to fall off…ever…so…slowly.  Inch by inch I lost ground.   Matt B., who was behind me, saw I was falling off.  He started to go around.  That little amount of draft let me hang in another 10 seconds.  Then someone else came around.  Another 10 seconds.  That was just enough.  It was then when the 6 strongmen (including our own Chris Wire) broke away from the field.  This slowed the field just enough to let me hang on.  I looked at Matt. “How about that?  That was f-ing brutal!”   (This was Matt’s first race in the 35+ 1/2/3, and they certainly weren’t playing nice!)

We went up the harder climbs and I was feeling good.  Andrew advised patience, and told me to sit in and attack after the turn around.   I needed to try and get across to the six.   This was a good plan.  Unfortunately, our group went too slow at the turnaround.  I tried to spur them on a bit and led part of the climb.  I then rested a bit and jumped.  Although the 6 were getting farther and farther away, and my solo attack would never catch, I figured I can thin the second group out some.  Ron Castia started to bridge, so I slowed a bit to pick up a chase partner.  This way we could keep the pressure on, and maybe (with a lot of luck) get across.

Soon after, Jeff Poulson bridges to us.  I shut down.  Ron was telling me to pull, but I knew I couldn’t help at all.  There was no way I was going to help Jeff make it up to the 6.  He is just too good.  So I sat on them both.  They continued to work for about 15 minutes, while I took a ride.  When what was left of the main field had just about caught us, both he and Ron sat up.  I attacked.

Boy was that a strong headwind.  I got into a rhythm and just kept pedaling though.  Sooner or later, someone will come along and help.  If not, at least my team can rest, while the other guys get discouraged chasing into what felt like a blow dryer. 

Thirty minutes later…I am all alone thinking, “Damn, it’s hot out here,” and “I am going all out, but can only manage 13mph!”  Fifteen minutes after that, I am still all alone thinking, “Damn, it’s hot out here…and my water bottle is empty…Oh, this sucks…Why won’t someone bridge up to me?”

After 53 minutes, I was finally caught.  By the whole group, no less.  “

Clark, do you have some extra water?!?”

“I am dry.”   We’re all hating life at this point.

Then, they come: attack, after attack, after attack.  Ron Castia, and Jeff Poulson were valiant, but  Andrew, Ramon and Clark covered everything. 

Clark even made a couple of solo attempts.  Chalk this up to tenacity, and a really well organized team!  Everyone knew what to do. 

Then, after another really hard effort, when the group was quite unhappy, I attacked.  I knew I had no legs for any kind of sprint, so what the heck?  I figured on going out there and frying.  Hopefully I would soften up a couple of guys while our guys rested.  Five minutes later, I see “5k” painted on the street.  Is that real, or a mirage?  What is that for?  Our race, or some other event?  I am feeling quite lousy, but press on. 

Too long later, I see a real sign: 1K to go.  I look back and see no one.  I look forward and see the finish tent.  I look back and see no one.  Forward again to the finish. 

I roll directly to the water jugs with my rear wheel squeaking.

Whatever physiological system that was protecting my body from shutting down suddenly realized that I was done.  I started hyperventilating and I could feel my heart pounding through my chest.  I rolled to a stop, retained my balance, and started to re-hydrate.

When coherency returned, I looked at my rear wheel.  Remember back at the beginning of the race when some guy ran into my rear wheel?  Well, he tweaked a spoke and sent the wheel out of true.  I was rubbing my rear brake for the entire race!  Man, what a day.

One last thing:  Kudos to the feed zone volunteers!  Without them, there would have been a number of people in a very bad situation.  I personally would have ridden myself into the ground.  

Quantity or Quality?

If you are like me and think you know just about everything, every once in a while something new comes along.  It is certainly refreshing to find something new, because now I can say, “Up until today, I thought I knew everything.  But there was something that I did not know.  However, now that I have learned that, I do know everything.”  Let me share with you my new-found knowledge.

Let’s start off with a question – an easy one.  Is this guy a sprinter?

  

Answer: no. 

OK.  So we all got that one, but it’s not because the tires go flat every time he mounts the bike.Today, researchers at Stanford announced that although Human Growth Hormone can build muscles, it does not boost athletic performance.  Why??  Well, an analysis of a 27 HGH related studies (with a total of 303 participants) reveals that

1) Lean body mass was increased, but an accompanying strength increase was not shown.  Turns out the lean body mass seems to be the result of fluid retention. 

…and (here is the kicker)…

2) The hormone resulted in the generation of more lactate.  “In one study,…two cyclists given the hormone stopped a workout because of fatigue.

”Say what?  You got it baby.  You weigh more, and get tired easier!  Not a plan for successful cycling, for sure.  Now you know everything too.

Believe in the Bike?

Last week I was reading in Bicycling magazine about how Tyler Hamilton got to keep his Olympic gold medal because the authorities lost his drug test B-sample,...and about how he’s on the Operation Puerto list,...and how he was recently booted off his team because of doping, etc.  I began to think, "What is wrong with this guy?"  "Why was I such a fan?" and,  "Who in the world could sign him ever again?"  That's when I come across a mention of this group of Tyler supporters who’s mantra is “BELIEVE.”  Believe in Tyler?  I would hope people were more objective than that, but hey, if people can believe O.J., why not Tyler?  I figure if they want to believe that Tyler is some hapless victim of the well-oiled anti-doping police, then more power to them.  Everyone needs to have a hobby.  But then the story goes on to say that BELIEVE no longer is reserved to mean believe Tyler’s claims of innocence.  It has instead evolved into something much greater.  No, it doesn’t mean believe in yourself, or believe in God.  It has evolved into believe in the power of the bicycle.

Say what?!  Please people, if you want to be stupid go right ahead.  But come on, at least you can come up with something better than that!  Shoot, when I was three, my Mom told me that I could believe at least in myself.  Heck, remember the ant that moved a rubber tree plant?  Or the “little engine that could?”  Even a choo choo train has enough common sense to believe in himself.  So now we have devolved into believing in a bicycle?

 

Granted, in a moment of weakness you might catch me kneeling before an Isaac Joule Aerotic, or genuflecting to a 14 lb. Specialized Tarmac SL2, but let’s get some perspective.  I am not a religious zealot, but I can tell you for certain if there is a higher-power that we should believe in, it is certainly not a bike.

Road Rash Ain't So Bad

There are certain life-changing elements in this world that so exceed their purpose, that lift up all things around them, that propel humanity to such great lengths, that I refer to them as “magic.”  These are the things that raise the proverbial “bar” so high, that to forego their influence sets back human evolution by decades.  Let me give you a few examples:  In food, those things that have achieved magic status are, roasted garlic on garlic bread, nutmeg in Fettuccini Alfredo, and peanut butter in chocolate chip cookies.  Don’t believe me?  Give it a try, and you’ll be taken to a place where you can’t help but wonder how you had previously lived your life in such relative despair.  In wound care, there are two items that have attained magic status.  These are Tegaderm dressing and PolyMem QuadraFoam.
 

I was introduced to these items a few years back after executing a dive so perfectly, it would make Greg Louganis’ own mother lament, “Why can’t my son do that?”  Unfortunately, my ‘dive’ happened to be a 30 MPH bicycle end-o while descending Mt. Hamilton.  

A few hospital visits, and copious amounts of bandaging later, I was completely sold on the value of proper wound care.Tegaderm looks like nothing more than clear plastic wrap.  However it is a hellava lot more expensive and works a hellava lot better.  After cleaning the wound (no alcohol please), all you do is apply this stuff just like you would a bandage.  Then you leave it alone.  It sticks to your skin, but doesn’t stick to the wound.  No more agonizing bandage changing.  Anyway, the wound never dries.  This lets it heal while minimizing scarring and avoiding all of the problems with peeling, sticking, and cracking scabs.   Don’t ask me how it does this, just accept it as magic.   

The only real ‘problem’ with Tegaderm, is that it leaks.  Sorry if I get gross here, but the puss, yellow crap, and any other kind of liquid that oozes from your sores will find its way out from under the Tegaderm and onto your clothes.  Enter QuadraFoam.

PolyMem QuadraFoam seems like nothing more than a pink sponge.  However, it is excellent at absorbing all the exudate (aka. ooze), and if you believe the manufacturer, it “provides a warm, moist, healing environment that promotes formation of granulation tissue and reepithelialization.”   I don’t know what that means, but I believe them.   

Road rash is certainly something we all would rather do without.  However, if you ride more than a few thousand miles a year, you are bound to accumulate your fair share of it.    Plan ahead people!  Get some Tegaderm at the drug store or on-line, and some QuadraFoam anywhere you can find it.  This stuff isn’t as cheap as a bandage, but doesn’t work like one either.  No joke people, once you try these, you’ll never go back.  They are Magic.

Free speed. Enough said.

This blog is definitely boring.  Neither funny stuff, nor ranting about the screwed up world is included.  But don’t give up on it.  This blog will enable you to get to the next level.  If you have Cat 4 talent, this blog will make you a Cat 3.  Cat 3 people will be capable of achieving the kick-ass status of a Cat 2.   If you are a Cat 2...well, I can’t help you.  You already know this stuff.

Those of you who have raced with me, know that I am a pretty good rider.  I won’t lie and say that I’m an  average Joe, but neither will I claim that I even approach the talent level some of the guys I race against.   I am pretty good.

That said, over the years I have been reasonably successful in races, despite almost never having the climbing ability to stay with the climbers, nor the sprinting ability to beat the sprinters.  Some of my best races are ones where I have been either dropped and clawed my way back to the pack, or have been ‘lucky’ enough to have been away in a break so I do not have even have to try and out muscle the sprinters.  I attribute my luck in these matters to certain core beliefs I have when approaching bike racing.  These are what I feel enables us pretty-good-guys to still have a blast on the bike, despite not having first pick from the gene pool.

Recently, I found this video on YouTube.  It is of Jens Voigt talking about the Tour of California.  Jens has always been one of my favorite riders; not because of his talent, but because of his riding style.  He doesn’t show up to a race to ride – he shows up to a race to race.  Here, he gifts us with a few words of wisdom.  Fear not, for the truth awaits.  Don’t pass it up.

Could I be a Pro?

On one of the cycling email lists that I partake in, one of the guys had done some calculations on how fast Levi Leipheimer could complete a local TT that we hold each year.   I started pondering, “What would it take for me to get on the podium with Levi?!  Dedication, hard work, and the right diet and fitness program, right?"

Immediately I ran over to my computer (actually, I was already sitting there, so there was no “running” going on), broke out my calculator, CyclingPeaks software, and the Critical Power calculator that I got from the Google Wattage group a few months ago, and began to envision free trips to France and hot babes bending down to kiss me on the cheek as I dawned the way-too-big yellow jersey.  The more I typed, the more my dream lost focus though.  Soon, the babes morphed into a cloud of numbers and math symbols.  

Lucidity returned as my kids started to fight over who is making faces at whom.  I continued to calculate. 

I now know why I am not an international pro. It turns out to get the same power-weight ratio as the elites, I need to increase my threshold power by 93 watts.  At my peak, I maybe can get 20.  Another 70 on top of that is surely out of the question.  However, there is still hope.  I could increase my power-weight ratio by losing weight.  As long as I can maintain my current power, and I choose only the real hilly pro-tour races, I could simply hide in the peloton on the flats, and then go with the climbers on the hills.  Good plan; now let’s run the numbers.

Since my race weight is currently a scant 117 pounds, this may be a challenge.  You see, I am already freakin’ hungry just trying to lose 3 pounds.   Turns out I need to lose 33!   Tough task…  At 84 pounds, not only would I look like one of the Olsen twins, but I would lose power in the process.  Technically, I would be in a coma.  I certainly could not maintain my fitness while in a coma. 

I think I’ll go play X-box with my son.

Performance Notes from 2007 ACSM Annual Meeting

Before reading, please heed the warnings below.
Warning: There is no entertainment value here.   Just facts.
Warning #2:  Ignorance is bliss.  Since the info below is based on science, beware that you may learn something. 

One of my favorite web sites for Sports Medicine and Nutrition is sportscience.org.  One of their contributors, Will Hopkins, recently attended the 2007 American College of Sports Medicine (ACSM) conference and brought back some notes.  Some study results were not yet substantiated, and some results were of low significance, so no conclusions yet.  The stuff I could truly understand was quite interesting.  Not that it was new information, but that known and emerging information continues to be supported.  Here is a synopsis:

• 4-1 carb/protein during exercise is a good thing.  (6% and 1.2% solution respectively)  Double the protein is not-so-good.
• Caffeine is good. You may need less than you think.
• Anti-oxidants (like Beta carotene, Vit C and E) showed no increase in performance. (They're still good though - just for other reasons.)
• NSAIDs (like ibuprofen) and mega-doses of Vit C reduce muscle soreness, but Vit C also delays recovery.  ("...the reactive oxygen species in inflammation have a positive role in adaptation," which is what Vit C is trying to inhibit.)
• Q: How do you know when you are overreaching (good) and when you are overtraining(bad), when both yield performance impacts?  A: "...the closest thing is a downturn in mood state, especially in the depression dimension"

To read the details, including how to use this info to be a better cyclist, go here: http://www.sportsci.org/2007/wghACSM.htm.  Note that in Mr. Hopkin's notes, there are also some unsubstantiated studies that show amazing results (I did not include those in my summary), 

On the road again. Really!

Here he comes,
riding down the street,
hairy legs like a monkey,
smilin' at everyone he meets!

OK guys and gals, I am officially back on the road.  Nobody wanted me to do it, but I simply couldn't handle the that trainer any longer.  I missed the road, the sun, and the camaraderie.  This is not to say I have recovered though.  Right now, I am concentrating on riding without crashing.  Not that I particularly wanted to crash before, but now I really, really do not want to go down.  I figure I have two more weeks of healing until my bones can handle it.  Until then, big group rides are off-limits.

During my 5 weeks off the road, I lost about 20 watts and gained 5 pounds.  Not too bad, all things considered. I also made some other significant changes.  If you didn't catch the monkey reference, it is true: I am going fully fuzzy.  That's right; I haven't shaved my legs in 5 weeks.  Yet, I am OK with it.  My wife tells me it’s perfectly normal for a man to have hairy legs.  Besides, when I get my butt kicked by other furry guys like Aaron, Dominic, and Tracy C., I figure if they can do it, then I can too.   

I haven't yet made any other real changes, but I figure along with the hairy legs, I was thinking of

• mounting a rear-view mirror on my helmet
• carrying a camelback, and
• getting a kick-stand (really convenient for those coffee shop stops)   

Guaranteed Health Care: Be Careful What You Wish For

So one week after my encounter with a rogue tree branch, I make my way to the doctor’s office to get an x-ray of my collar bone and a follow up consult.   Surprisingly, I was recovering quite well.  At least until I got there. 

I show up, hand them $20 and they start to abuse me.  For a warm-up, they shuffle me into the x-ray room, hand me a lead blanket to protect my privates, and then contort my body into unnatural positions, tell me to hold my breath, and shoot me with radiation. 

Twenty minutes later, I am directed to an examination room where I can nurse my now re-swollen shoulder.  When the doctor shows up, he vigorously shakes my hand, further aggravating my injury, and welcomes me with a hearty, “Good afternoon!”

Staring at the floor, I mumble something like, “ouch.” 

“So, Mr. Spano, I reviewed your x-rays,” he says whilst pulling, twisting and generally mis-configuring my shoulder, as if he is in a tug-o-war with me.  Holding back my tears, I hear him continue, “Nothing has moved.  So, we’ll see you in four weeks, OK?” 

At this point, I don’t know what is more swollen, my shoulder, or my eyes.  Then I realize, “That’s it?  A $20 co-pay so I can get mutilated and told to come back in a month for another ‘round?”

The prodding, poking, and pulling has reduced me to a puddle of a man.  “Uh…can I?...do you think?...I was wondering if I can see the x-ray?…maybe…can you show me if it’s healing?  I want to ride my bicycle.”  

“Oh, and can I have my arm back?”

He looks over his spectacles, assessing my seriousness.   He gives me a stern look, spins about, and clicks away at the computer.  “You see, it is broken here and here and over here.  It’s in multiple pieces.”  He spins back.  “Do not blah, blah, blah, ride your bike until it’s healed.  If you fall down, then blah, blah, blah.  Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah blah.”  

I didn’t really understand anything after that.  All I really remember him saying is “…ride your bike until it is healed.”   Maybe seeing the doctor was a good idea.

Another Cyclist Confesses to Using Drugs

Recently, I have been doing some smarter training.  Trying to periodize, I am training hard and resting hard – at least on a semi-macro scale.   It seems to be working.  My bike’s power-meter keeps measuring an ever-increasing threshold power.

So Wednesday morning, I am on my daily, way-too-early-in-the-morning commute to work.   Mother Nature is not happy.  The air is cold, and the wind is blowing.  Gusts of wind are arching the trees. 

The wind doesn’t affect me though.  I am riding full-force into the wind balking at Mother Nature.  “Is that the best you got?!”  I come to realize that it’s not the wind that is causing the trees to bend, but my superior riding skills.  They are bowing to me as if to acknowledge my training is paying off and I have reached cycling demi-god status.    One tree though wasn’t content with my arrogance.  Instead of letting me ride peacefully by, it decides to drop a limb in the road. The limb clips my wheel, and down I go.  I’ve been dis’ed.

Anyone who has seen me crash knows like a weeble, I pop back up.  Within seconds I am back on the bike and ready to go.  No so today.  I tried to get back up, but my body wasn’t moving.   I could hear myself groan.  I remember thinking, “OK, I am just getting old.  I’ll rest a minute, and then get up.  No rush.” 

When I finally stood up, I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder.  Holy $%!T!  I better not have broken a bone.  I have broken a bone before, and the incessant pain is not something that me, or my wife, want to go through again.  You see, I turn into a total ass.  Imagine a guy having PMS 24x7 for 4-6 weeks.  That’s me.  Ironically, I am hoping that a tree branch has been driven through my shoulder.  Give me a stake in the shoulder over a broken collarbone any day!  I reach over feeling for blood.  None.  This is not good. 

Off to Emergency I go.  Yup, it’s broke.  The doctor gave me a cocktail of Vicodin (codeine) and ibuprofen.  It still friggin’ hurts.  Is codeine a banned substance??  Probably.

The last few days have been a roller-coaster for me.   I’ve been spending my time mostly whining and feeling sorry for myself.  In between these episodes, I have been trying figure out how to maintain some fitness during my ‘vacation.’  My head tells me that in the grand scheme of things a broken collar bone is not a big deal.  I do not know why my heart is telling me that it matters.  Maybe it’s the fear of losing fitness, maybe it’s the fear of changing my daily routine, or maybe it’s the fear of having to ride a trainer.

    

Why do I ride anyway?

So let me ask, what is the point of this?  Everyday I get on my bike and turn the pedals 10 thousand times.  I spend 12-15 hours a week, and countless $$, and for what?  Well, let’s assess the three reasons I can think of.

For my health.  I am told that if exercise “at least three 20-minute bouts of continuous aerobic [bla, bla, bla],” then I will be healthy and stave off the imfamous killer heart attack.  When I ride I do way more than that, so I should be SUPER-healthy.  Unfortunately, I ride in traffic!   But for my helmet, I should be dead.  Twice. 

Is cycling in traffic healthier than a heart attack?  Hard to say.  I know many more cyclists that have died cycling, than people that have died of heart attacks.  Shoot, I even heard of a two occasions where guys died of heart attacks while cycling!   I say it’s healthier sitting on the couch eating two bags of Orville Reden-butter’s, than getting run over.

So I can race.  That’s it.  Nothing gets me going like waking up at 4 in the morning, driving two hours, sitting on the nastiest port-o-pottie on the freaking planet,  and then paying some guy $30 so I can go get the crap beat outta me for the next three hours!  OK, so maybe racing ain’t the reason.  

Because it is what I do.  When I dream, it is usually about riding.  When I have nightmares, it is usually about riding.  When I wake up in the morning, two things come to my mind: coffee and riding.  Ok, first it’s, “I gotta pee,” then it’s the others.  After ten years of riding nearly every day, I think it just a habit of mine.  I guess I don’t like change, I just don’t know any better, or the endorphins cloud my mind enough that for two hours I get to forget all my problems and just focus in on how good I feel.   

Are you a cycling a-hole, or are you just dangerous?

Recently, I had the opportunity to ride with a bunch of absolute a-holes.  When I expressed my feelings to our team mailing list, there was concern that I was broad-brushing entire groups of people as ‘dangerous,’ while ignoring the fact that each person is an individual.  This got me to thinking…

Why would someone think I was implying 'dangerous,' when I did not use the word?  Can you be an a-hole without being dangerous and conversely, can you be dangerous without being an a-hole?  In my mind, the difference is in attitude.  To explain this, and to help us all come up with a common set of definitions, I decided to develop the a-hole test.  This way each person can find out if they are indeed an a-hole, fix themselves, and start anew. 

To take the test, answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to each of these questions:

1. While riding in a pack, do you swerve to avoid hitting Botts Dots, thus avoiding a potential flat tire and hence a dangerous situation?
2. While riding in a pack, do you look to you left to indicate to the riders around you that you are moving left, and then proceed to move over?
3. While riding in a two row paceline, instead of riding directly behind the rider in front of you, do you take advantage of even more energy savings by drafting between the two riders in front of you?
4. If you are 20 miles from the race finish and someone is moving in front of you (effectively stealing your place in line), do you maintain your position by holding your line and forcing them to initiate the dangerous situation?
5. In a fast Criterium, when the pace finally slows enough that you can start to think, do you float up to the faster riders at the front to position yourself for the final sprint.
6. In any race, do you try to maintain your position near the front, but brake to avoid being at the front?

If you answered ‘Yes’ to any of the questions, then you likely care more about your position in the field, than you do the safety of others.  You therefore are officially an a-hole. 

Bonus: If you took the test and didn’t understand why your ‘Yes’ answer was indicative of inappropriate behavior, then you may not be an a-hole.  You may be just dangerous.  Congratulations.  

Never Again

Literally every year I am questioned about the time I rode the epic race, the Everest Challenge.  Even though this year it won't be until September, I am already started getting questions about it.  Whether or not you consider yourself naive enough to attempt this race involves a personal examination of your own mental and emotional state.  To help you in this endeavor, I will post my race report from 2002, and then you can make the decision yourself.

"The Everest Challenge is the toughest race I have ever encountered. For those of you who have not heard of it, it is advertised as 120 miles long, with 15,465 feet of climbing! Of course, that is only the first day. The second day is 86 miles with 13,563 feet of climbing. If the 105 degree temp doesn't kill you, then the altitude will. Results are based on your
accumulated time.

This race broke me. I was totally destroyed, both mentally and physically. I remember starting the day ready for action/ After 3 hours of intense climbing, my body told me that I had just finished the Mt. Hamilton RR. Unfortunately, my mind told me I still had some racing to do. As far as I could tell, at this point I was second in my category. Luckily for me, a really strong rider, Louie Amelburu (winner of the 2001 Spring Mountain Omnium, and a number of other 35+ races), totally fell apart at the top of the second climb. This was at about the 4-hour mark. I figured I was now first, and that as long as I continued to hammer, I could get the State Climbing Champ jersey..

Well, hammer I did. When I finally got to the base of the last climb, I was tired. My legs were totally blown. I was climbing this endless false flat into the wind at 6 mph! (It turns out that this false flat was actually an 8% grade, but after staring at all the other climbs I did, this actually looked flat to me.) Regardless, I pressed on. I kept telling myself that
everyone else is hurting, and that I could push through. After another hour or so (at 6 mph), I was totally dejected. I wanted to quit. I wondered why I was there. I was counting the miles left. As far as I could tell, I only had about three miles to go. I got off the bike. I was at 8000-9000 feet of altitude, and could not even turn over my 39X27!! I walked, I looked back, then I rode some more. I finally made it to the last feed station. Desperately, I asked them, "How far is the finish?" They responded. "Just 12 miles left! Good job."

12 MILES!!!! I summoned all the math skills I could at this point ad realized that I had ANOTHER 2 HOURS TO GO!!! I could not make it. I didn't know what to do. I was totally broken. I ate and drank all day, 'till I was nearly sick, but I had no strength. I decided to press on.

I ended up stopping three more times. I got off the bike, looked around, questioned reality, and rode some more. I wanted to quit so bad! Finally I came upon the 10K marker. I pressed on. The last kilometer was torturous. I know deep down that the race organizers set this up on purpose, and I was pissed at them for it. The last kilo was full of rollers. 15% grades! (At 9,000 feet with 15000 feet of climbing in your legs, 15% is A LOT.) I walked the bike. I could not even ride out of the saddle, for my legs were too wobbly. I finally made it over the finish in 6 hours and 24 minutes or so.

The people at the finish offered to take my bike. They offered me a drink. No joke, I could not even respond to them. All I could do was stare. After 30 seconds or so, I was able to speak. "Sugar water," was all that came out. (I actually wanted PowerAde, but could not think of the words.) About 10 minutes later I was finally coherent enough to think straight. I then realized that I was not in first place. Mark Weiderman (the Cat 3 winner of this year's Tour de Gila five-day stage race) had beaten me to the top.

I rested a while, ate and drank, and descended.

Only one more day.

I found out the next morning that I was second by a little over 4 minutes. The third place guy was some 54 minutes behind me. Realistically, I had second locked. My plan was to do what I could to finish. I needed to make up four minutes on Mark to take the lead, but he was a much stronger rider than I. The only thing I could do was ride my own race and see what happened.

Basically, we promenaded for about three miles, and then hammered. The race split into fragments, with a group of Cat 1 and 2s (and Mark) riding away from me. I did what I could, but stayed within myself. This day was more of the same; pain and suffering. I ate and drank like my life depended on it.  My stomach was full nearly all the race, but I continued to eat and drink anyway. It was so hot. Although they were a bit disorganized at times, each one of the feed stations was literally an oasis in the desert. The descents felt like there was a giant hair dryer blowing over my whole body. At about 3 hours into the day, I started the final climb. It was 20 miles, and went to 10,100 feet! I paced myself and thought of quitting, but continued on. On a happier note, my wife and kids drove by in anticipation of meeting me at the top. They rooted for me, and my son even handed me a bottle at the next feed station. Awwww. I grinded up the hill in my 27, looking for another
gear. I had to stop of few times, to make sure I did not destroy myself like I did the day before. I was glad when it was over. The second day took me some 5 hours and 25 minutes. I was done.

My body was so depleted. Despite eating and drinking before, during, and after the race, I still lost 5 pounds.

The officials still had not received my time at the bottom by the time we drove home, but given that I had an hour lead on third place (and beat him again this day), I am sure I got 2nd overall. I picked up my prize for finishing top-three (Rudy Project Sunglasses), and drove home (Actually, my wife drove. I just sat in the passenger seat and tried to remain conscious). "