Friday, January 9, 2009

 

This is the log entry of my discontent. I am discontented only as far as training goes, the rest of my life seems to be going very well. I am tiring of spreading my musk over the same old training routes, and my subterranean schmalz sweat lodge is getting claustrophobic. I am beginning to loathe my minutes in the saddle. It’s times like these that I remind myself why I do this training. I like racing bikes. I’m not sure that I would ride at all if I didn’t race. Racing is so much more fun than just riding. I love the mind games; I love being able to ride in a pack; and I love being able to taunt those that finish behind me. Granted, they are usually cranking their bikes by hand, but a win is a win. I’m not proud.

 

I was tired today and I didn’t really feel like riding. But there’s snow in the forecast for the weekend, and this may be the last opportunity for an outdoor ride. I did some sprints today as the chances to ride outdoors without sliding about like an inebriate muskrat are vanishing fast. The sprint numbers seem fine, a little low, but I’m getting into the tiring portion of winter training, so any sprint numbers will be slightly crappy.  The sprint’s max wattages were as follows: 1018, 1075, 1073, 1087 and 1027.

 

 

Sunday, January 11, 2009

 

Today I woke up early to sneak in a workout, as there would be no other opportunity for working up a man sweat today. I began with some schmalz-bata; squat jumps this time. Squat jumps done to a 20/10 beat are an absolutely disgusting endeavor. I was nearly dead by the time I reached the end of the interval. I was light headed and hand to take a knee—so I figure that this exercise has to, of course, be the best possible thing for me. I find that near fatality is the best way to gauge the efficacy of an exercise.

 

After the squat jumps, I did a set of my favorite schmalz-bata exercise, calf or ankle jumps. I just realized why I love these so much. You jump up and down with your hands at your side—it’s the pogo! I love me some pogo-ing! And that’s a term that may only hit home with folks who were once very concerned about the color of their shoelaces. 

 

I followed with some more roller time, which will require some high intensity alcohol therapy to ease my distaste for prolonged periods of indoor training.

 

 

Monday, January 12, 2009

 

Today I did my new super secret training exercise, it’s a combination of yoga, softball and sprinting—oh, who am I kidding? I just pranced around my basement and then rode my bike on rollers. It’s the same old rubbish I’ve been doing for months. I did schmalz-bata sets of lunges and the pogo, followed by a spin on the rollers. Does that sound familiar? It should. Because it’s the same damn thing I’ve been doing for weeks! Ugh, I despair just writing that information down, I have no idea how people can actually read about it! And yes, I am aware that I am pushing my luck when I assume that anyone has read this far into this journal entry.

 

 

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

 

Today I did 20/10s on the rollers, I am now at the point where I do everything in intervals of 20 seconds with 10 seconds rest. I brush my teeth that way. I interrupt my urine flow. I can’t finish sentences. I am hell to drive behind. 20/10 has become the cadence of all the events of my life. Well, not really, but it seems that way. It’s late and maybe my frustration is just the vodka talking. As a rule of thumb, I usually let the vodka do the talking; the wine does the dancing; and the beer does any heavy lifting.

 

 

Wednesday, January 13, 2009

 

The Top Gear playlist saved me today. I planned on doing 90 minutes on rollers, and it was going to be uphill battle. Actually I wouldn’t have minded really going uphill, but the weather is too cold for my pre-elderly bones and the roads, with their shoulder sashes of ice, are constricted tighter than Dick Cheney’s arteries. So I absconded to my bike chamber. I counted the minutes like Rush Limbaugh counts spouses. There! I was able to fulfill a promise to myself to include at least two “chickenhawk” references in one log. Tomorrow’s challenge is even harder, to incorporate multiple all stars of Guatemalan curling.

 

 

Thursday, January 14, 2009

 

The falling snow has settled on the ground; muffling the ambient sounds of New Jersey and adding a frosted coating to my neighborhood. It’s lovely, really. It’s also going to drive me underground to spin my legs in maddening circles while perched on three aluminum drums. Today is thursday and that means I should be doing my kinds hard intervals, two sets of 20 minute slogs at a heart rate just below threshold. Do I want to do this? No. But I am a bike racer and the thought that there is someone out there doing more training hours causes me feeling of anxiety and inadequacy—never mind that fact that I’m probably comparing myself to a pro or even worse, Roger Aspholm. So I did my 20 minute intervals. 

 

The first went fine. I averaged 263 watts for the duration at 158 bpm. But the second interval was a descent into madness. The first 12 minutes went by in a mildly painful fashion, but at minute 12, I began to feel “unfresh”, to use parlance of 1950’s Madison Avenue feminine products ad copy. What followed was the worst 8 minutes on a bike so far this year, and I know the year is young, but I find it hard to believe I will be able to top this until racing season starts. The interval ended up being 234 watts at a 155 heart rate—and that’s only because I rallied at the end to raise the average above 225. What does this mean?

 

I may be the leader of the obvious squad here (we’re a new super hero outfit Im forming, I’m thinking of calling myself “Kid Blatant”—what do you think?), but these feelings of fatigue I’m having mean that I’m tired. This is the time of year when I ride myself into the ground, and being tired is a good sign actually. It means I’m making progress. Did you just see that? It was subtle, but I just turned negative training input into a positive sign. Self deception! It’s the racer’s edge!