schmalz's log 2010 part 15

Over the course of my life, I have collected an array of definitions for myself. I can claim to be a: husband, father, artist, corporate officer, writer (don't laugh) or fledgling taxidermist. These are all very adequate self-definitions, but they also seem very ordinary. That is why I sometimes choose to define myself as a bike racer. And I can honestly claim to be a bike racer—as I have raced bikes—in races. 

My assertion that I am a bike racer serves as the ace in my self-esteem deck—I can play it to prop myself up when an opportunity for ego fluffing arises. If you are faster than I am on a bike, I can claim that I have to make a living, and simply don't have enough time to train to truly realize my potential. If you make more money than I do, I can claim that I am faster than you on a bike. If you are faster than I am and also make more money than I do; I can try to distract you while I steal your wallet, or simply punch you and afterwards claim that I have a nervous tick. It's all part of the pathetic game that I play in order to feel good about myself, and naturally my devotion to cycling sadly gets shuffled into my Uno deck of self-worth lunacy.

This is all madness, of course, and I realize that it reveals a serious flaw in my character. I shouldn't be spending time finding ways to win imaginary ego contests—contests in which I am sadly the only participant. Life is not a competition—it's a series of challenges, achievements and disappointments that ends with a gassy decade spent somewhere in Florida. I have to wonder though, if I am the only one in cycling who behaves like this. Don't we all do this to some extent? We are literally competing against one another week after week. We train and obsess and work in order to beat one another on weekends. We chase after sponsorships when we can afford to pay for our own racing without financial aid. We wear white bib shorts.

I am beginning to suspect that bike racing attracts people who need to earn self-esteem through competition. We are desperate for the sweet affirmation that only comes when we are able to triumph over our friends and associates. We compete against one another not only to feel good about ourselves; we do it so we can (more importantly) feel that we are better than others. We spend time training and obsessing in order to ensure we can humiliate our competition. We get sponsors because it's proof of our worth—someone loves us so much they are willing to place their name on our backsides. We wear white shorts because the world needs to see our lycra-wrapped genitals.

I suppose if you look at bike racing this way, it seems like a preposterous endeavor. But there is an upside to all of this toiling—being preoccupied with cycling keeps us, for the most part, away from the general population. Bike racing, in this instance is doing a service for the public good. With all of our training, resting, obsessing and writing of proposals that will add more sponsor name to our white shorts; we don't have time to meddle in the other arenas like politics, business or condiment-based wrestling—the places where most go to find their self-esteem. Plus, we're all really tired and we have a big training day scheduled tomorrow.

Friday January 22, 2010

Today I was finally able to do another sprint workout, my numbers are right at where they usually are, implying that I am at the same level of fitness I have always been at. One of my intervals disappeared mysteriously, and I'm convinced that my sprint power overwhelmed my ailing PowerTap unit. That's right, I'm stronger than binary code.

Sunday January 24, 2010

After last week's late team ride, the BH/Garneau squad assembled at a time early enough to facilitate my demanding weekend schedule of puppet shows and birthday party pizza feedings. I was excited—I enjoy having company when I ride bikes—it helps to pass the time, and it gives me the opportunity to share my feelings and observations with my teammates. Of course, my teammates probably feel like flinging themselves into the passing traffic rather than enduring an extended ear full of my "wisdom", but over the years I've learned to ride on the outside, trapping them against the curb and saving them from themselves.

We had a large group this week with David Matt, Ben, Kevin, Alvin, Reed, Andy, Pavel, Pascal and Sarah all joining us on the road. I enjoy riding in large groups—as they afford me ample opportunity to tuck in behind behinds—a crucial location to be when Kevin takes over on the front of the group, as Kevin seemed to be riding with anger today. His pulls were longer than the last day of school and they were as furious as a goth kid accompanying their dad to a Jimmy Buffett concert. I'm not sure what made Kevin so angry at us, but maybe it had something to do with the presence of his roommate Reed. I think we were all being punished for Reed's cohabitational transgressions. Not cool, Kevin. 

In any sort of long group ride or race, millions of miniscule events and adjustments take place, not only to ride effectively, but also to not end up splayed on the road in a pile of tight clothing. So many things go on, in fact, that it is almost overwhelming; and when asked to describe a long ride or race all I can usually muster is a description of the mean of what happened. When I get home, the best I can come up with is one word description like "good" or "cold" or "topless". Here's some words to describe Sunday's ride: rising, gravel, irked, moist, discomfort, aviary, disheveled, anxious, relieving, woods and enchanting.   

Monday January 25, 2010

My coach, the one who decides my training schedule by conjuring the weather (also known as God), has been very kind of late; summoning mild temperatures and un-rainy days, allowing me a consecutive run of outdoor training days that seemed not only unusual but almost miraculous for January in New Jersey.

Today that streak came to an end. I'm not sure what might have irked the Almighty (I've got a call in to Pat Robertson, but his "how the weather shows that God hates you" hotline has a full inbox), but I can guarantee it must've been something big—I think it's the popularity of "The Jersey Shore"—we should've looked away when the one they call "Snookie" brazenly exposed herself again, again, again, and then again.

In order to appease my coach, I did penance the only way I know how—through the painful, punishing practice of tabata. I lunged for the requisite 4 minutes at the dictated 20 seconds on, 10 seconds off pace. I used the heaviest weights available (45 pound dumbbells) to me in my basement of contrition. I lunged until the sinews in my knees sang out in chorus. I then mounted my bicycle on the rollers in order to cleanse my spirit of the tabata effort, and hopefully erase the sight of the Snookie's blurry backside from my mind forever.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Today I did my 20/10s, and my average power was exactly the same as it was last week. This is the cycling equivalent of getting up and milking the cows. Today I tugged at the teats of power and brought forth the bovine rewards of consistency.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Today I went out and rode on what seemed to be the coldest 45 degree day I've ever encountered. The cold today seemed very disproportionate to the actual ambient temperature. I am forced to conclude that the extra chill that I felt to day was from the opening of some sort of ominous portal of menace. I choose to blame Andy Shen for the rift in the time space continuum, as I think he's been playing around with derailleur pulleys again.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Today my coach brought forth snow and forced me underground to ride my rollers. Today's agenda required that I do two "kinda hard" intervals (which are extra miserable indoors). I have acquired a replacement PowerTap head unit, (borrowed from Andy Shen, who now has so many power measuring devices that he can calculate the wattage of his dreams) so I can now see my heart rate data again. I was able to do my intervals at the proper heart rate today. This means that my intervals this week were 4% and 6% higher respectively than last week. Or I just did the intervals correctly this week. Of course, I will assume that I have become about 5% mightier, it aids my delusion.