In my professional life I am required to be a stickler for details. Granted, most jobs require a great deal of attention to detail. You wouldn’t want a forgetful surgeon cutting you open and leaving his watch in your pectoral implants, because having a ticking nipple is just weird, and while my job isn’t a life or death or even a life or deep sleep situation, it is necessary for me to be very detail oriented because as a designer, if I mess up, many (or at least that’s the hope) people will see it. If you show me a picture for instance, I will look at the subject, notice the nice person (or if the picture is coming from Brett Favre, the pixelated shortcomings) and then move on to scanning the background of the picture for potentially embarrassing inclusions. I will look for urinating dogs, letters on signs or walls that spell obscenities, accidental or purposeful nudity, poop, and of course I always scan for patterns or objects that inadvertently make genital shapes. 

This is part of my job. If I were not detail oriented, I would be out of work. The problem with training yourself to notice details is that once you become very good at it, it’s hard to stop. People, I have found, do not necessarily like to be told that they have sat in something that makes a large wet spot on the back of their pants. It also   takes extraordinary amounts of will power for me to not correct every factual discrepancy I come across. Part of this stems from my naturally annoying personality, but a good part of it also comes from proofing thousands upon thousands of lines of copy. (Notice I didn’t say "reading" lines of copy, we designers rarely read anything we design, as proofing is completely different from reading.) I’ve only recently been able to develop a successful strategy for balancing my compulsion to be correct with being a pleasant person to be around. I call this strategy "shutting up".

Shutting up has helped my marriage, my personal relationships and my career (well, when I’m not proofing anything). So it’s odd that I would choose to spend my recreational hours engaged in an activity that not only encourages attention to detail, but actually rewards it. I record my workouts. I compare my wattage numbers. I compile each and every moment spent on a bike. Perhaps this sport slakes my thirst for detail. And it serves to vent the steam off my compulsive boiler, lest it explode in a furry of exasperating suggestions. Bikes, they make me less annoying.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

I wasn’t really planning on doing any riding today, as I had quit bikes for the weekend. Sometimes I do that. I will swear off bikes, and tell myself that I won’t ever ride again. It’s my way of taking the pressure off myself. It’s liberating to walk away from the sport entirely. Of course, my retirement from bikes lasted 1 day before I crept back to my basement for a quick hours worth of trainer time. I may be exercising and maintaining my physical fitness, but I’m really just succumbing to my compulsion to pedal and sweat. If it weren’t so healthy, someone would’ve staged an intervention about this a long time ago.

I did take a vacation from downloading data, so there’s no numbers whatsoever for this ride.

Monday, February 7, 2011

After the weekend’s research project into non-cycling based life, I’ve come to the conclusion that consuming football-themed foods results in a disturbing rush towards  obesity. I only spent one afternoon eating chips, dips and wings and my weight immediately ballooned up to 155. This must be due to the fact that my metabolism is slowing in my later years as my body is preparing to shut down for its eternal sleep under the dirt covers.

But for today I will be raging against the dying of that particular light, and I will be doing it by donning tights and lobster shaped gloves for a jaunt into what most people call "the real world". Yes, I went outside today. And thanks to the stalwarts of the Bergen County Park’s Crew, I was able to ride the entire length of the Saddle River Bike Path, as it had been plowed and salted—a rarity in the world of bike paths, as many of you can surely attest (I’m looking at you Westchester County). It was due to the dogged determination and (perhaps) hung over resolve of these tenacious public servants that I was able to take my day’s sojourn into the restorative sunlight as it fell upon the stacked snow, nearly blinding me and bringing a squinted tear to my eye.

I saw the crew out today on my ride, stopped at an icy stretch of path, getting out their ice choppers as they prepared to clear yet another section of asphalt. I gave a hearty nod as I passed, hoping that they wouldn’t notice I was squinting with gratitude.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Today I ventured out into "the world" again to ride my bicycle. The temperatures today were lower than yesterday’s, prompting me to bring out the heavy artillery, warm clothing wise. This means that I turned to my athletic scarf today. It’s a wonderfully efficient way to keep your body vapors (science has shown us that body vapors are more valuable than almost all the spices we import from the Orient) inside your clothing, keeping your chest warm and cutting a dashing profile for yourself as you knife you way through suburbanites strolling on the Saddle River Bike Path. It’s times like these that I feel for my bi-wheeled comrades in Central Park, as there’s no police presence whatsoever on the SRBP, only grizzled workers clearing the ice whilst trying to soothe their pounding headaches.   

The athletic scarf in its full glory, I am not complying with the UCI radio ban in this photograph.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

I had the best of intentions for today. I was hoping to rise early to do an 30 minute trainer ride and them return later to do another ride, completing the dreaded "double" workout. I wasn’t able to muster the moxie to wake early to ride my trainer, as I am feeling fatigued and apathetic. To be honest, I could give a hobo’s crap about riding right now, but these are the rides that (according to coaches who want to keep collecting monthly fees over the winter) build the base fitness that serves as the cornerstone for racing season mightiness. If only bike training were as enjoyable as bike racing! I find myself envying bowlers in this circumstance. (I also envy the fact that they can drink beer while participating in their sport, but I’m working to remedy that discrepancy.) Bowlers don’t train, they bowl. They simply show up and compete. They don’t need to spend the overwhelming majority of their time training for their games. Bike racers spend most of their time training, the racing account for the minority of their actual riding time. It’s simply not fair—I demand the cycling equivalent of a beer frame!

It was with this attitude that I took to my trainer today, hoping to unleash the rage in my thighs. My rage was quickly downgraded to a firm indignation, as my legs were still smarting from a set of uphill 20/10s from yesterday (did I neglect to mention that yesterday? Yes, I am doing some training). I settled for releasing the annoyance from my spleen.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The temperature today hit my trigger point (35 degrees), so I donned my athletic scarf and headed out to circumnavigate the Saddle River Bike Path. Originally, in a fit of optimism, I had planned on heading out to interval country and doing 20 minutes intervals, but the snow thinned roads and my fear of compressed traffic convinced me to venture no further than the SRBP. Usually when I arrive at the SRBP, I quietly thank the coach above and have a celebratory drink from my water bottle (and pour a little out for the homies, of course). I reached down today to repeat this ritual when I noticed I hadn’t brought any water bottles. This was mildly distressing, as I have heard horror stories of dehydration and sudden death from lack of fluids (all from the Gatorade web site, they are so full of information there!), so I considered my options. I could turn back and ride home for a bottle, but that meant riding for 10 minutes, and that was simply out of the question. I had come too far to turn back. I needed to find a way out of this. I considered trapping some fat winter squirrels and drinking their blood, but then I was hit by a white burst of inspiration.

In fact the inspiration was all around me. Snow. I could. Eat. The. Snow. My ride and  (according to Gatorade) perhaps even my life were saved. I was able to sustain myself through three five minute intervals by consuming the white energy powder, and the experience was so satisfying that I’m thinking of marketing it to cyclists. I will add electrolytes and I shall call this revolutionary product Super Speed Powder™. I think the name has a real ring to it.

Compensated endorser.