As disciplined and creative as I have been over the many years of cycling I have finally acceded to the wisdom of my numerous alternate personalities:
`Bad Dan' self:
"Daammmmmn, Dan! It's gonna be all show and no go for 2 or 3 hours just to get in a good 35 mile, 3,400 ft of climbing ride today. You're carrying three seasons of clothing, you'll be sweating, stopping, shedding wool, hitting a wall of cold mountain wind, stopping, putting that wool and a windbreak on again, dodging patches of black ice. And half of the damned ride you'll be coasting downhill, wet, paralyzed by the wind chill. Dumb shit!"
`Lazy Ass Dan' self:
"Right, you stupid moron! You're going to go into that claustrophobic shed and ride the indoor trainer for an hour or two, juice yourself up with earphoniac drumbreaking music-qua-noise, delusional hallucinations, self-abnegating ruminations, and simplistic and shameful rationalizations as to the actual benefit of this insane torture. Dumb shit!"
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So, after almost 70 years of doing the same thing over and over again (... don't say it) I'm deep into a major training transition that may actually result in ... dare I say it? ... pleasure and satisfaction.
This is a blog about Training. Not bicycling. Not self-abuse. Not proof of masochistic cajones. Training. With the remaining hours, days or weeks I have on this spitball of cosmic insignificance I think I'll opt for door # 3,362,950,102.
- Running.
- Rowing: Concept2 Indoor Rower (ergometer).
- Bicycling (outside). Only on a truly too tempting good day.
Running. I started running when in the penitentiary (Remember: The first duty of every prisoner is to ... ESCAPE).
There were two `yards.' The `big' yard where the stogie chomping and peglegged Mafioso (Mickey Cohen, etc) and wiseguys walked their laps. And the `little' yard that nobody went into because it had nothing in it (no barbells, no baseball diamonds, no place to sit). Just short grass and two huge fences with concertina barbed wire, punctuated by guard towers with armed and dangerous white Ozark farmboys and their essential drooping bellies.
In the summer I'd just plod around and around for a few hours to burn off my wasting youth. In the winter, when it snowed, I'd stomp out huge peace symbols in the snow in front of the guards just to show them that ... well, just to piss them off.
When I got out of the `joint' I continued running. It is a cheap sport. Portable. Cutoff jeans and a sweatband. U.S. Keds. And `I'm off.'
I ran everywhere, all the time. I ran so far and so long I'd sometimes get so lonely that I'd talk to myself to keep company. I'd interview myself for ABC Sports. "So, Dan. How did you get into the sport?" "Waaaall, I started runnin' in the penitentiary and ..."
I'd pass other runners and they'd slow down to look at that sort'a crazy skinny guy who was talking to himself. I'd even spook horses on the Chicago lakefront when they had horse trails. I'd run 12 miles to work and 12 miles home. I think I finished 8 or 9 marathons.
But, then, in my forties things went south and I started to work 12 - 16 hour days. After that I'd start and stop running, gained some weight, get an injury that'd keep me from running for 3 weeks. And then the run-injure-stop cycle just put me out of action and on the bike.
Now, I'm running again. I weigh 50 lbs less than I did 3 years ago. I'm only `pitty-patty' running at this stage. Fifteen to 20 minutes. Going very easy at the outset. No pain. But I do experience a mix of feelings.
The first `complaint' that my body registered came from my left shin. Very slight and it went away after I eased up on the pace and paid more careful attention to my foot plant. Then I experienced an almost unbelievable sense of return to old form; like I was back in my 30's and my stride and landing were easy and `right there.' Dangerously tempting to break out into a full-bore run. NOT!! As the time running increased I would feel my legs getting tight and heavy. Experience has a way of improving even a dumb brute's judgment, so I stop before I feel any pain or strain.
And that's where I am at the moment with running. Pitty-patty, brief and within myself. I will be disciplined about maintaining a very minimalist running plan. Six months of not much more than 15 to 30 minutes of running. Can I do more? Sure. Will I be able to avoid injury if I do more? No.
But I am having head trips about doing marathons again. I'm even dreaming of it.
Same for the indoor rower.
Rowing. I have always had absolutely no upper body strength. A big burly, hairy chest. But picking my nose has always left me winded and gasping.
A few weeks ago I was moving the bike and pulled a back muscle that I later learned is the trapezius. The damned bike is made of carbon fiber, f'crisake! I was walking around like I had a crowbar up my keester for a week.
Twelve years ago I bought the Model C Concept2 indoor rower. I used it quite a bit but only as a barely plausible pretext for not going outside to ride the damned bike.
Shame put me on the C2. Guilt got me off the C2 and back into macho-masochismo biking in the snow and subzero temps. (Sometime later I'll describe how I once rode in temps that were so cold I froze my `pawls' off. That's not just a pun,)
So a bit over a week ago I decided -- made an actual conscious, deliberate decision -- that I was not going to put myself through the anguish and shame and guilt and pain and suffering this winter over the damned bike. I decided to get serious-grave about the indoor rower.
You know, plan it out, a steady, consistent training program that would improve my upper body strength, my cardiovascular function, my pulmonary respiratory function, anaerobic capacity, stamina and endurance. Yeah. All 'a them things.
For some reason I don't feel the mind-dissolving boredom on the indoor rower that I experience on the indoor bike. I think its because I'm using both my upper and lower body. But I'm not sure. Time passes much faster. I actually enjoy it.
Seven hour sessions by March. Competitive indoor rowing, f'sure.
