There’s an old adage in cycling that roughly goes "the Tour is won in bed" (I cannot accurately verify that quote because a Google search on that phrase does NOT lead to many cycling links), this phrase might have been coined by Bernard Hinault, Eddy Merckx or some other very notable cyclist – personally I’d like to think it was Jacques Anquetil that first stated this – because he accomplished many many things in bed. The implication behind this maxim is that recovery after a difficult effort is where the physical gains in cycling are achieved. Or to put it in Seussian terms, those that rest best will best any test.

The struggle to balance self-inflicted athletic punishment and proper recovery afterwards strikes an eerie parallel to measures one might take to avoid a crippling hangover in the morning. The goal in both cases is similar – you don’t want the activities of the night (or day) before to carry over into the next day. Sure, you may have overdone it by imbibing too much or by doing too many one-legged threshold intervals – and in both cases you may have found yourself vomiting in the street – but the savvy drinker like the savvy athlete knows that if they begin preparing for the rough morning the night before they can stave off some misery. The methods for averting both types of hangovers are also startlingly similar – eating, drinking water, sleeping, and "hair of the dog" are all methods employed by the over-indulged to keep ensuing distress at bay.

As I am an active self-punishing cyclist, I use many methods to avoid the repercussions from being "over-served" at the tavern of strenuous activity. After every ride, I am sure to take a shower, but like an icy dousing meant to rouse Otis the Drunk for his waddle home, I am sure to finish every shower with an icy blast of water with the shower knob turned to its coldest setting. This is meant to firstly, shift the location of my man parts up to somewhere near my ears, and secondly it’s meant to help aid in the repair of the many muscle micro-tears that accumulate with the unleashing of muscular mightiness. I could take this frigid process much further by taking an ice bath or waiting until winter and joining my local polar bear club, but I am pressed for time, and my local polar bear club doesn’t offer any clothing optional winter plunges – so I make do by hosing down my legs with the removable head in my shower.

After my gland relocating spritz, I apply some Muscle Butter from Chomper Body (as a matter of full disclosure, I’ll mention that Chomper Body has sent me three cans of the aforementioned Muscle Butter, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t pay for it on my own. I apply it to myself like a Kardashian applies self tanner) to numb my joints and make my body parts smell like something other than wretchedness. I then yank on my "athletic support hose" – also known as "compression socks" – you can charge much more for compression socks than you can for support hose – and after that I mercifully dress in clothes, none of which are performance enhancing. And that, in a nutshell, is my shower and post-shower routine in excruciating detail – I now dare you to not think about me every time you shower from now on.

In addition to hosing myself down with frigid water, sporting support hosiery and rubbing numbing, scented lotions on myself, I have one final recovery ritual; one which I have recently instituted. Every night, before bed, I have a glass of milk. The reasoning behind this is that milk contains the protein casein, which is a slow acting protein. In theory, the casein sits in my stomach like a lump of curdled mightiness and slowly releases its athletic magic through the night. This, and all the other recovery rituals I employ, serve to create the myopic pantomime of my daily athletic life, which I put myself though in order to impress the other myopic types that race in the pre-dawn hours in publics park before sleepy companions, insomniacs and squirrels.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Bicycle Fun Fact (BFF) of the day
1905 The Lucky Strike Company debuts a cigarette aimed at the cycling crowd. Known as the Speed Smoker and made from special "Veloci-leaf " tobacco, the cigarettes boast of healthful "lung-assisting energy clouds".

My personal trainer, known to some as Yaweigh, and to others as Mr Eric Clapton, brought forth some rain, relegating me to my basement of athletic horrors. I participated in a session of tabata lunges and some schmalzbata pogos, followed by around 45 minutes on rollers. I was able to work my way through the monotony of riding nowhere on aluminum drums by watching the engrossing documentary "Anvil! The Story of Anvil". It’s a must see for anyone who went through a "metal period" which sounds like an awful medieval torture, or now that I think about it, actually sounds like the title to an Anvil song. 

Sunday, November 15, 2009

BFF of the day
If you get a flat in a tree filled area and your tube explodes into a fine powder before your eyes; you can get home by stuffing your tire full with leaves and riding back. If you’re feeling extra bold, you can add acorns, but be careful, as whirling acorns are a potent squirrel aphrodisiac.

After a day off my bicycle celebrating my birthday with a sampling of assorted chips, associated bowls of dipping substances and moderately priced lagers, I was back onto my training regimen again. I am still expectorating lumps of schmalz curd, so I decided to take things slowly and return to riding intensely at a leisurely pace. In fact, since I rode up just one hill in a big gear, I probably avoided riding with any intensity whatsoever.

In order to avoid any other intensity, I rode home via the bicycle pathway, which, on a sunny Sunday was a clumped collection of walkers, strollers, moseyers, and dog walkers. As I usually ride midday during the week, I enjoy mostly deserted bike path for my sojourns. But weekends bring out the crowds, many of whom are oddly shocked by the presence of a person on a bicycle passing them on a bicycle path. These distracted dawdlers are a mostly benign presence on the bikeway, they are easily passed once you pause behind them for a moment and slowly pass as they toss their coffees onto their bodices in stunned wonder. The biggest obstacle I faced was the dog crowd. I enjoy dogs very much and find them great companions, but I cannot imagine I would ever get to the point of loving my dog so much I forget what is occurring on in the world around me – you can only really love a pet ferret that much. But some dog owners when faced with a friendly confrontation with another dog owner will become so delighted with the prospect of socializing their beloved pet, that they seem to forget where they are and what they are doing. They will stand at opposite sides of a very thin asphalt roadway and hold their leashes taut while their dogs apply noses to rumps in that unmistakeable canine greeting that can lead to wagging tails, or happy yips, or in the spring, desperate humping bouts. This is all well and good – it’s my longstanding policy to be pro public humping – but it makes passing these tableaus of doggie bliss nearly impossible. I was forced off the pathway no less than 3 times in order to get around these "dog, owner and leash suspension bridges of canine interaction – and humping". And I can tell you right now that there’s nothing that makes a delicate-tire riding fussbudget more flustered than riding their road bike in the dirt – my bike is white, after all. Those dog owners should just be glad I showed restraint and didn’t spit at their dogs.

Monday, November 16, 2009

BFF of the day
1897 Cyclists of the day hold "German Measles" parties in order to contract the disease, as the treatment – a cream made of absinthe, coal tar and horse hooves – is thought to have performance enhancing properties.

Today was the last jaunt before I begin my more structured training again. I rode the trusty Saddle River Path, with sightings of both the Goose Feeder and the MILF Hunter – one day those two crazy kids are going to find one another, I just know it. My ride itself was unremarkable in almost every way, except that I am obsessed enough to think that I have to write about it here.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

BFF of the day
April 1972 – Eddy Merckx punches the entire country of Italy in the mouth.

Today was a beautiful, sunshine-filled autumn day; one of those lovely days that tempt people to try and memorialize the occasion in either prose, poetry or tweet format. Adoration of delightful fall days is not my forte, let’s be honest, there’s plenty of people out there who can wax poetically about leaves, sunlight and hope much better than I can. In fact, I try to avoid any such literary urges whenever possible, as to not embarrass myself.

Today’s inspirational weather inspired me to reach into my quiver of intensity based workouts, and I did a set of 20/10s up my local training hill. My mightiness held firm at 356 watts for the duration of my self flagellation.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

BFF of the day
1887 The first pneumatic tire was made by a Scotsman for his son’s bike, it was made of sheep’s intestine and was considered a rare delicacy.

Today I rode for an arbitrary duration with 15 minutes of un-arbitrary sub threshold that saw me averaging 257 watts for the interval. These numbers are not unusual or special in any way, yet I feel compelled to share them nonetheless.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

BFF of the day
In episode 5 of the 1983 television Series "Hardcastle and McCormick", Skid McCormick’s bike is played by a Specialized Stumpjumper – one of the first appearances by a mountain bike in prime time. The role creates controversy when the Stumpjumper’s character turns to heroin.

My coach brought the rain today, so I rode my rollers in my basement, albeit without any jumping or lunging. I did begin my threshold intervals today. I realize that some people do not do any intensity during this time of year, but I find it helpful in maintaining my mightiness. I did one five minute effort at a 314 watt average, my threshold HR is 175, and during the interval my average HR was 178 – mightiness mission accomplished.