If you ain't first you're last

I completed my first cyclocross race of the year today. It was hot! It was a fun course for being the first of the year, though some had complaints that it was too this or too that. I finished, and I faired better than expected as #7 out of 13 in the Women's CAT-4 field. My back has still been bothering me, though the foam roller has definitely been helping. My form is awful during the obstacles, especially considering the delicacy in which I approach my back problems (when I'm not straight up ignoring them). I had practiced the cyclocross dismount and remount techniques yesterday, but in the throws of racing, I shied away from the proper form and took the much slower, but gentler approach. One leg at a time, leaning, you know - like if I were getting off my bike after a long day of work, ready to sit down with a cider and some Parks and Rec reruns, not actually racing. This is what is supposed to happen, for all you new to the sport:

However, this is what I most likely looked like to the people taking photos at the barriers:

Except I was wearing a helmet, obviously.

I do realize that I lost time getting on and off my bike, and that I need to use my brakes minimally if at all when riding the sections I'm capable of handling. It was my first race of the season, though, and the only other cyclocross race I've done was two years ago, on a single speed with flat bars. I'm excited for this season of challenges and growth, of digging deep into my psyche to push past the voice that says, "Why???? Just stop, no one will hate you if you give up, you're so tired and thirsty!" (and that voice is quite loud around the second or so lap).

I'm also excited to be reentering the world of team sports at 32 years old (thanks Scurvy Dogs Cycling and Colin Burch - who not only generously sponsors the team but also took the sweet photo coming up shortly), older and wiser and less concerned with how people will judge me as I fumble over the barriers, or pass them eagerly in lap 2 only to be passed back in lap 3, or whatever other drama may surround the sport and my friends.

Today I spent the day outside, and it was sunny and warm. I broke a sweat, then I got the chills, and I finished the race and not even as the caboose. And afterwards, someone offered me a Yuengling, and I drank it, and it was cold. What a wonderful sport.

Hair of the Downward Dog

I woke up the next day and my back, among most everything else, seemed a bit upset. No problem-o, I thought, I'll just do more yoga. Hair of the downward dog. Just like with whiskey, though, it was only a very temporary relief, and even at that there were some positions I can ordinarily do with no problem that I straight up could not do (half boat pose) due to my lower back singing it's terrible siren song. Once my muscles cooled off from the practice, the pain was that much worse. I sprayed myself with BioFreeze and drank some cider, which helped a bit, except that I woke up in pain multiple times throughout the night. So I put some more BioFreeze on it this morning, rubbed some dirt on it, and later today I plan on taking a few laps. I have a bike race tomorrow, so I need to be back in action in time to warm up.

Oh, did I not tell you I'm on a sponsored cycling team now? Drama and intrigue surrounding the team aside, it will be nice to ride around and challenge myself on a new platform. I need to put my game face on, because October will not only be full of bike races, stair climbs while carrying a heavy pack, and daily back yoga (I ordered a back-specific yoga DVD, hosted by my man Rodney Yee), but also my Tupelo Press 30/30 Challenge. I will be facing a lot of positive adversity, if there is such a thing (spoiler: there is), and need to get back into the swing of kicking ass and pushing forward all the various blocks and hurdles that life brings.

Liberate your Lower Back (Liberate Liberate Liberate!)

This past week was a big hustle, hanging up what I referred to as 1500-3000 posters, but was really 675 (which, believe me, is still QUITE a lot of posters to hang around town). A lot of walking and riding around the city, followed by a weekend in the Washington Cascades for a wedding and a day in Seattle. It's easier for me to fall for places than for people, and I think Washington state officially makes me a floozy. This place seems to have it all. I mean, look at this (!):

It brought me back to my New Mexico days of Hike A Mountain Every Day. I mean, look at this place! How can all of us not live here?

However, after a solid week of walking and carrying weight, plus the 8-12 hours of travel each way, my lower back was sore and inflamed. My fitness group for our trip across Newfoundland got in touch about where we are in our training goals, and someone mentioned the need for more yoga. YOGA! YES! I haven't practiced in months, even though I still have classes left on my Amazing Yoga pass (same can be said for kickboxing, but…). So this afternoon, I unrolled my mat and put on Rodney Yee's Power Yoga Full Body. I didn't realize how tense I've gotten over the past few months. I am, umm, not as good at this as I used to be. There were muscles that I didn't realize could even get tight. I finally related to my friends doing Broga with me in my living room a few years ago, wincing and screaming during half moon or full bow. I was happy I could still perform everything, and equally happy I didn't get bored half way through and stop. I know I need to make yoga a daily part of my life again, and that these great aches are just the stretching and heating of scar tissue. My back still hurts, don't get my wrong, but I'm looking forward to a week from now when it feels great and I can put my leg behind my head again.

A haircut, a bike lane, and a pizza walk into a bar, and the bartender says...

So I'm still sick (or still very allergic, depending on how you want to play that card), but today I rode my bike downtown to get my haircut by the luminous Autumn at Salon Nuvo (she does a great job, is fun to hang out with for an hour, can go as wacky - or professional - as you dare, and is phenomenal with curly hair. If you happen to go and say I refer you, I think we both get discounts - win/win!). Autumn just completed her first half marathon Iron Man triathlon. I can't even imagine the effort and dedication that goes into a competition like that, to break through so many physical and mental hurdles, and to push through and complete the race. I'm so proud of her, and really inspired by her story. I wouldn't say it makes me want to sign up for something that sounds so painful, but it does open up the possibilities of the human body and how much we can endure.

I also rode down because I wanted to check out the new protected bike lanes that have been created downtown. They look great! It's still a bit difficult to maneuver from the Eliza Furnace Trail to the new protected lane, but I feel like that change may come in time. Pittsburghers do not adapt well to change. The radio station still plays songs from the early 90s as their "modern" rock and even still, Pearl Jam has more than 3 songs, guys. Come on, now. When the smoking ban went into affect, over 10 years later than in most major cities in the United States, people practically rioted. I'd give examples to contrast actually negative where people effectively did NOT riot, but I don't want to be a total bummer.

So I realize these new bike lanes need to be added quietly and slowly, integrated into the structure of Pittsburgher's lives (more accurately, those who live outside the city and drive in, as those are the majority of the complainers, it seems, regarding the new traffic patterns). The one downtown is certainly an excellent start, though, even if it means cutting through some aggressive traffic to get from protected lane to protected lane (which is still far better than going from protected lane to completely unprotected lane), as it goes all the way from Sixth Street to 31st Street. The Andy Warhol Bridge (Seventh Street) also received a new bike lane, and some other bridges aren't too far behind.

A lot of change has occurred in my life this summer, and if I am to stay in Pittsburgh (the future is always unknown), then these new bike lanes are probably the best news so far (oh, my manuscript was a finalist at Four Way Books. That was almost the best news). These lanes not only represent a safety measure for myself and fellow cyclists, but a new shift in mentality, even if it's a ways down the road, and an actually livable city after years of being told that a new cupcake boutique is all it takes to make a place special.

ANYWAY, since I've been home and unable to exercise or think very clearly, I've been trying to utilize my time by cleaning the kitchen and cooking. If you haven't cleaned out your tupperware drawer in a long time and thrown away all the useless lids and lidless containers, do yourself a favor and get on it. I also got rid of a lot of jars that have been sitting unused for years due to their impractical size or, again, lack of lid.

I also made a pizza. A few months ago, Evan bought me gluten free pizza dough mix, on sale at Aldi for $1.50. It's sat in the pantry for a while, because I was a bit skeptical about how good Aldi brand gluten free pizza dough would come out, and having all the other ingredients for pizza can be a bit difficult to have all at once. but my friend Wendy from Wendy Town Farms posted a photo on Instagram of a pizza she was eating and I just couldn't help myself. It was surprisingly easy to make from the box, made two pizzas, and didn't take too long. I topped mine with pesto, tomatoes, goat cheese, and spinach. I tried to get a photo but not only did the first pizza disappear, but I took the second one out to display and by the time I came back with my phone for a photo, there was a big chunk missing.

 Here's the photo evidence, and the remaining pie below:

In classic gluten free boxed baked goods fashion, it didn't have much of a rise to it, so this isn't a pizza dough to purchase if you're looking for a doughy, gooey pizza crust. That will probably come from a homemade recipe. But the flavor was exceptional, the texture was fine, and it held up to a good consistency once toppings were added. Sometimes homemade pizzas can get an unpleasant rubbery center, especially gluten free crusts, but this one came out great. I'd definitely pick this up again. Total time, including prep work, was under an hour.

sick daze

The day started okay. I had my writer's group, and everyone was pleased with the spread:

healthy no sugar added zucchini bread (from previous post) with Earth Balance, zucchini sunflower hummus with baby carrots, chilled carrot ginger soup, gluten free Joe-eos, and of course coffee - with choice of almond or 1% milk.

But at 2pm I headed to a wonderful baby shower that had an incredible spread of dried fruits, nuts, and cheeses, and then a switch to bagels and lox (I tried some of the salmon just to taste, but stayed clear of the cream cheese and bagel), and then finally to a dessert spread of fresh fruit, cookies, brownies, tarts, and a Prantl's burnt almond torte cake. I had only a tasting of everything, but it was enough. My head and stomach started hurting simultaneously. 

I should also note that I was sitting down-wind from a pollen tornado, which I'm sure also has a great deal to do with my health the past few days.

I came home stuffed up and cramped, spent Sunday throwing up and unable to breathe and with a massive headache, Monday cloudy headed and dizzy from Day-Quil as I had to catch up on work from Sunday, and today I'm still unable to ride my bike or walk any distance, and have pretty strong chest pains and a winded cough. I got a pumpkin ice cream from Page Dairy, because I'm sick dammit and I can do what I want, but otherwise I've been staying on track with what I'm putting in my body. I'd say I feel great if I didn't feel like crap!

So that's my excuse for not updating in a few days. I did ride my bike up to Industry Brunch at Legume, about 3 miles uphill from my house, but that barely counts. If anyone wants me, I'll be fighting my way out of a pile of dirty tissues and hankies, and hopefully tomorrow I'll be back in the game.

vegan veggie burgers, b/w indoor workouts, I wish I knew how to quit you

I really wanted to keep on reading Thrive Foods tonight, but after a day running around grocery shopping (when you're hanging posters for a living, not only do you need to hunt down the deals, but you know where all the deals are hiding), writing a poem for my writing group tomorrow, and getting some editing work done, I hadn't really gotten any physical activity in and was starting to get that restless leg feeling. Luckily, my gym is only 1.8 miles away so I threw the book in my bag and rode over (headlight is, indeed, broken, sad face). I had 50 minutes before they closed so I went for a nice slow jog for 45 minutes while I got schooled about just how devastating livestock farming is to the earth and our food sources, and how plant based diets are so much more ecologically and economically sound, on a global and national basis. Stuff I knew from being vegan (it's true, it kind of is all vegans talk about), but good to see it broken down into easy numbers and statistics which have been fact-checked 4 times over, rather than just what someone from the animal defense league tells you while she changes the tin foil in her window. A decent evening workout, but I was still restless, so I came home and made these veggie burgers, courtesy of another cookbook I reference often, Allen Lim's and Biju Thomas's Feed Zone Cookbook. Check out the recipe to see how nutrient-rich these are, using the pulp of the juice I made for E. before he headed off to band practice (carrots, beets, ginger, and one apple).

Here they are cooling on the rack before I put them in a storage container. I'll probably have to freeze them tomorrow, but I want to get a better feel for how the rest of our groceries are going to fill in the meals for the next few weeks.

Before going to the gym tonight, I tried to convince myself to just stay home and clean or watch tv, that I could go to the gym before my busy day started tomorrow, before people came over and before I had to leave. That I should try to get a handle on preparing food while I was motivated and not put it off until tomorrow (I'm making chilled carrot ginger soup for my friends tomorrow). But motivation stays with me if I'm driven, and if I'm enthusiastic about the projects. Not only did I make these burgers, but I also made yogurt for the week, and had a couple frozen margaritas that E. made. Eating well and staying in motion means having the energy to keep moving forward and stay positive. And isn't that just a simplified version of all we want in life? To just be able to keep going, get stuff done, and maintain some positivity? One day at a time.

small steps out into the light

I got off topic a bit, so excited I was to discuss headlights. Honestly, 4000 lumens?? But anyway, there are other choices to make that cut corners. Today, for instance, I took the dog for a walk. A neighbor dog was out, with whom he'd previously had an altercation, so I turned around to spare us all that grief, and we ended up exploring the meadow behind my house, which occasionally pretends to be a drainage field. Major Tom and I looked at some wild flowers and appreciated the 7 a.m. sunlight flooding through the trees. A squirrel prompted us up the hill, from which we had to climb out completely. By that time we were halfway into Squirrel Hill, where there was coffee waiting. I could have made a number of decisions to turn around, but it was a beautiful morning. We walked through the new permiculture development  in affect, and through the cobbled neighborhoods of Orthodox Jews and Asian CMU students. Once home, I still had to go back up the hill to get some work done. The scooter has made this so easy, but it's these short cuts that make me slow and (feel) fat and make me less inclined to push myself. I used to have the energy and attitude to always attack the climb, and now I'm a bit more relaxed (or lazy), and I want to change that in at least some ways. So I rode my bike up, and of course I felt better about it, and while my legs are tired from the challenging ride last night and the hike this morning, I tried to harness all my energy to go up the hill with passion and as a result I have even more stocked up than I thought.

My body wants to be lazy and restless, it wants to get old and slow down and turn it's energy into anxiety. But I can't let it. I won't. It's a small anecdote of a larger story about getting old, (re)claiming my life crash after crash, ache after ache. Some fear is warranted. It is dangerous to ride a muddy root switchback descent with a poor lighting system and no health insurance. It's not dangerous to ride a bike 2 miles up a hill to sit in an air conditioned coffee shop. If I can do one (with much swearing, toe dabbing, and grunting), the other, surely, must be accomplished without blush.

A light to shine my way, however dark

A theme for this week has been trying to work against shortcuts or the easy way when it doesn't really benefit me or others. I've been trying to ride my bike every day - on the trails if possible - and so far in September that's been possible. A couple days ago, I had an iced coffee at 7:30 p.m. and consequently stayed up until 4 a.m., chatting online with an old friend who broke his shoulder last week when his front wheel got caught in a trolley track in Boston (happens to all of us, man, heal well) and then playing sudoku until I passed out. Henceforth, I missed me opportunity to go hiking and swimming in Ohiopyle and my whole yesterday was off to a slow start. By the time we had a chance to leave the house for a ride, there were a few options: ride Frick, to which I had written a strongly written letter in my head about its trail conditions, ride Hartwood for an hour or even less, as they don't permit night riding, or head into South Park and bring the lights. South Park is a gucked up mess of a park, and has been the cause for many divorces over the years between me and E. I had sworn it off previously, but for the sake of riding for longer, trying something new (I'm also trying to say YES more often, as I did during my trip to Chile a few years ago), being open to change, support of my darling husband, and also because it's been a long time since I've gone night riding, I already had the bikes on the back of the car by the time he came home from work, lights charged (we'll get to that in a moment), and water blatter full.

The trails, true, were gunky, sticky, wheel-eating messes. but my memory of them was so traumatized that they seemed like wonderful swooping meadows in comparison to my fears. They were peanut buttery, deep sinking and slick, made worse by the hoof prints of horses who are taken for walked along the same trails. and even the dry parts of the trail were often difficult to keep rubber-side down because of the wet glaze covering them. But they did swoop and slope, and at the end of the day it's still nice to be in the woods. The fields were overgrown and full of jaggers, but they were a spectacle to ride behind another biker as the flowers and tall grass yo-yoed and buoyed with the friction and wind of passing bodies.

When night came, my light wasn't on more than a few minutes before the top indicator light started flashing, it's first warning the battery was set to die. The charger glowed it's green "charged" light earlier, so this was an assault on truth, a war on night riding. It was also a great push to ride through things I ordinarily would soft pedal, and to run through the obstacles I could't see enough to ride (or wouldn't ride anyway). The top light started blinking fast as my headlamp started to flicker and my vision waiver. We opted to chance one last quick trail, rather than ride on the road, and the thrill of limited visibility is possibly a new love, and emblematic of either my complete lust for life or my listlessness, I haven't quite decided. But we made it, and I didn't crash, and I didn't cry, and we didn't divorce, and all things considered I would ride South Park again. If, like, all the other parks were closed.

While we're on the topic, lets talk about lights. I feel like major cycling lights -- to see, rather than merely to be seen -- went from being described in watts to lumens since I started working in bike shops and since then, I can barely keep up with the progress! I have a NiteRider MiNewt, which the internet tells me is 150 lumens, though it barely holds a charge these days and anyone who's worked in a bike shop knows it's better to just ride home in the terrored darkness than try to get someone at NiteRider to return a call about a warranty. I also, however, have a Light & Motion Stella 250.

At the time, 250 lumens seemed like a luxurious excess. I could see anything! Do I really even WANT to see that much? Surely this many lumens defeats the purpose of even going out at night. Quickly, the numbers rose until finally there was a cap put on it, allegedly, because bike lights were outshining car headlights. Maybe when I get a job I'll bump up to 400 lumens just to mess with the norms, and I know that just like the iPhone, once I upgrade, I won't know what took me so long. All the reason to wait, I suppose.

Ode to my bicycle

It's Labor Day so I'll keep this quick, but today as I climbed out of the woods of Schenley Park on my Scott Scale 650, I shouted out, for I had to tell the world: I love my bike. Like with all relationships, each one hopefully has it's benefits, even if only to show us our own weaknesses or what we decidedly don't want as an influence in our lives. There are three bikes in my life who have made me want to be not only a better rider, but a better, badder person:

There was Lucy, the first bike I fixed up myself, on which I learned to wrench because the local bike shop said she was barely worth the $15 I paid at a yardsale. She was an old English 3-speed, and she took me to parts of town I never knew existed, parts of myself. We rode into Boston from our town of Hingham, first riding to the bus stop, then into Quincy to take the train, then Dorchester, and finally into Cambridge, passing each milestone and not stopping, knowing the next was so close by proximity to my own strength. Why stop? It was a question I asked myself on that first ride into town at night, and then for years after. I acquired her when I was 17 or 18, rode her to school when other kids were taking their cars, rode her to friends' houses, to punk shows, and most importantly - I rode her away. If there was ever a place I didn't want to be, I had escape in the form of 2 wheels and an internal hub. I've never been a dependent person, but previously I had inline skates with their awkwardness and the necessity to take them off all the time, or a skateboard that used up so much energy for such little gain. I wore so many sets of wheels on both modes of transportation that my local skate shop started giving my swag. But with a bike, it was all so easy and simple, and there was no more train to catch, no more deadline or need for exact change. Lucy taught my so much about myself, and who I had the potential to become.

The next bike, when talking it over briefly with E., I had said was Lucy II, a 1973 Schwinn beach cruiser I had in Santa Fe who was beautiful when I needed some softness in my life, had grace and style when I felt I was all scabbed knees and ill-fitting tshirts. A bike that offered me a femininity I couldn't maintain on my own. My own devine feminine in cherry red and white washed tires. But it could have been Starla, the first new bike I purchased with my own money, a Jamis Durango I bought in Santa Fe. I question my selection between Starla and Lucy II now, because it was Starla who was with me during so many Critical Masses, so many sad break ups, who I abused with spray paint and loved with glitter, who I painted like the night sky, then like a skeleton, with whom I learned to ride up stairs during a particular bad relationship. Most of the bad things in my life happened during my time with Starla, and there she always was, sitting quiet in my room, always with me, or else cruising through the night streets of Santa Fe, a tape deck duct daped to her handlebars while we took turns too fast and crashed and laughed, and locked up and loved.

But now, of the ten-plus bikes I have in-between, and of the stable I have now in my kitchen, living room and basement, it's the one I haven't yet named, the Scale, who brings me such joy - who teaches me about my own strength, who calms my fears and gives me faith like a religion, and I believe. We cut through single track and over logs and rocks and roots. I remember to look ahead and trust her, and she always keeps rubber side down. I've had other mountain bikes, and I'm sure will have others in the future, as all things come to a closure. But the freedom, and beauty, and excitement to be alive and in the woods is unlike any other joy brought to me by those. Every bike has been preparing me for this one, so that we could ride together, eyes open and forward, tires clawing against the dirt.