Underdressed and Cold

"She understands now what she, 

in all her worry, had forgotten.

That even as she hesitates and 

wavers, even as she thinks too much

and moves too cautiously, she doesn't

always have to get it right.  It's okay

to look back even as you move forward."

Jennifer E. Smith

 

As I age, I find training myself to stay strong to be so different than when I was younger.  Mainly, I suppose, because of recovery time changing.  But also due to other things perhaps such as the laziness factor. Additionally, I suppose, there is the idea that I have been there, done that so many times.  Once you have conquered something, done something successfully, doing it again, while still quite sweet and bringing a sense of accomplishment, does not have quite the same shine as the first time:  the first triathlon, the first PBP, the first kiss.  Riding or running used to be just disciplining myself to put one foot in front of the other, to turn the crank over and over, and that worked.  And it still works, but not as easily as it once did.  Mental? Physical? Probably a combination.  

 

So I worry a bit about plans for a ride followed by a walk after my morning weight workout when I find it is one of those days when it takes more effort than normal to lift the same weights.  That usually happens only when a. I have gotten out of my normal routine or b. I am  not fully recovered or c. I did not sleep well.  There are, however, times when it just crops up unexpectedly.  It happened when I was younger as well, but not so often and did not hit so hard.  And when younger, perhaps, I was more likely to skip the weights as muscle retention was not quite as vital as it is at this stage in my being.  

 

I  am just tired.  I toy with canceling, but know that it used to be, when I was doing triathlons, that going ahead with the workout was one way of extending endurance and keeping tiredness at bay in the future.  Only by pushing boundaries do they seem to recede.  And I have a century I hope to ride this coming week-end. I struggle with determining if that is still a useful strategy and really don't yet have an answer.  I will give it a go.  And I will forgive myself if I am wrong.

So I go to the ride.  Jon has planned a route to Lexington from Madison that is supposed to be 35 to 40 miles.  Of course, I should have known better: Jon consistently underestimates the mileage on his routes.  Unfortunately for me, not only is the distance longer than anticipated (43 miles), but I find as the sun hides behind clouds in anticipation of the coming snow, I have not dressed warmly enough.  Three miles is nothing on a warm, pleasant day, but today it is like eternity. When Jon asks about stopping at a store to warm up before proceeding, I even toy with the idea of telling him I will stop and asking him to come pick me up, but I firmly squash that thought and tell him it is best to continue riding.  It brings back a memory of a cold, winter century ride with Bill Pustow and Steve Rice.  It was our second century of the week-end, both in freezing weather, and I mention that I might turn around.  Jaws dropped as they urged me to continue with them.  And, of course, I did.  Was the end of that ride miserable?  Was I as cold as I am today or just tired?  I don't remember. 

 

 

From the store stop at Lexington to the end of the ride, I am freezing cold, miserably cold though I never reach that stage when one's whole body shivers involuntarily making it difficult to remain upright on a bicycle.  Jon occasionally urges me to pick up the pace thinking that will warm me, but what he does not realize is that this pace is it for right now.  The gas tank is nearing empty.  In my mind I think backwards to times when I perhaps asked more of others than what they had to give at the time and ask forgiveness for my naivety and for the arrogance of youth.  Or perhaps it is there and the reluctance to increase my pace is mental.  Regardless, it is there as tall and strong as any wall.  Today, I fear, I lack the strength, mental and/or physical, and  I will not break through. 

At the store we are verbally accosted by a man outside that obviously has some issues.  It makes me sad, watching him struggle to communicate while knowing how vital communication is for a meaningful life.  He incontestably has limitations and is lamenting that nobody listens to him, that we will be getting seven inches of snow.  How sad it must be to have one's opinion continuously discounted, justified or not?  Later, while Jon is in the store, he informs me he also has visual disabilities and that people criticize him for not working but he does the best he can.  And in the end, perhaps that is what we all do, the best that we can do with what we have been given.  How easy it is for us to feel superior without really knowing what we would do in similar circumstances.  Perhaps rather than feeling so smug, I think, I should be extra thankful.  My parents were not perfect, but they met my needs as best they could.  My education was not Ivy League, but it was a good education that I should, perhaps, have made better use of it.  My mother received adequate prenatal care.  She probably drank while carrying me because it was their wont to have a martini before dinner every night, but she was not an alcoholic and did not use drugs.  My father did not beat me or molest me.  Blessings.  

And so, despite feeling as if my toes are blocks of ice that will crack and fall off at the slightest jolt and that I will never be truly warm again, I ride to my car, grab a warmer garment, and head out for a four mile walk, working my way through the tiredness that has only been exacerbated by the cold.  Looking back again, I remember jumping off the bike and hitting the ground running rather than walking.  Just as back then, it takes a bit for my legs to allow walking to feel natural rather than stilted and forced, as if it is a new motion.   But they do loosen though I never lose the tiredness.  I "think" I even manage a decent pace for most of the walk.  Still, rather than lamenting, as I sometimes do, that a ride or walk or hike has come to an end, I am happy to return to the car. And  hungry.

As we drive to a well deserved and much needed dinner I think that perhaps not only is okay, as Ms. Smith notes, to look backwards as we move forward, but necessary to plotting a successful course forward into this unknown morass known as aging.  If, indeed, there is a successful way to age. For it seems to me that aging, while it brings certain advantages, brings more than its share of losses, particularly the losses of people and abilities.  Regardless, it is the way of things.  Old age is uncharted territory, known only through living or vicariously through the writings of others. And I am grateful for that which I have been given.  

Rainy Days and the Wimp

"So it's raining?  You're 

not sugar.  You won't melt....

enjoy it."

Anonymous 

 

A century plan abandoned in light of the forecast for rain. It is not supposed to be terribly windy.  It is not supposed to be a hard rain, or even a steady rain, or an all dy rain, and it is not supposed to be particularly cold, lower fifties, but the plan is abandoned none the less.  I really need to purchase a new rain jacket.  My old Showers Pass jacket is in shreds, and when I last checked they were sold out of the cheaper one. I "think" I remember asking to be notified when the jackets are available again, but so far no luck. I tell myself to remember to check their web site. In the end, however, deep down, I know these are excuses.  Fifty in the rain is very doable.  

 

My husband would have laughed and called me a wimp for even thinking of backing out, and I, I would have ridden regardless at that point.  It was why he did it. And he was right.  I am definitely NOT sugar and would  not melt. How often did he challenge me leading me far beyond where I might otherwise have gone?  Sometimes it made me angry, but on the whole, I normally was glad and grateful.  For there are sights and sounds in the rain that you don't find elsewhere.  I certainly would not have the accomplishments I have under my belt without his encouragement and support.  But back to the ride.

I still plan to ride, however, just not so far and after the weatherperson says most of the rain will be gone.  Jon and I agree to meet in the afternoon when the rain is supposedly going to be gone and ride 35 miles with about 1,800 feet of climb with most of the climb due to three hills we will encounter.  Afterward we are to walk a bit over six miles in a loop around Madison ending with the walk up Hatcher Hill.  I am beginning to learn some of the names in this city despite not living there, but it certainly has taken me long enough.  I think Rich Ries was the first to take me up that hill on his St. Nick's Hick ride, a ride I showed up for despite not knowing Rich other than a FB follow or any of the other riders.  It was about a year after Lloyd's passing and I was still struggling mightily redefining myself and keeping my feet under me.  I will be forever grateful for the welcome I received that day and hold the ride close to my heart. 

Frankly, if we had not made plans to ride, I don't think I would have been able to force myself out on the bike.  With the gray, dreary weather, it would be too comforting to sit on my butt on the couch reading the book my daughter recommended and that I have found fascinating, "The Girl with Seven Names."  But there will be time for reading and relaxing.  My body is crying for exercise, and I do so prefer being outside over the trainer despite the fact the trainer is probably better for me. Jon and I talk a bit of how much easier it is to get out with another person on bad weather days or gray days.  And I know, for me at least, this is true. 

 

Despite our slow pace, and I mean slow, I am pleased with how I feel on the hills.  I don't press, but I also don't suffer as much as I expected to. My thighs complain,  but it is not an injury complain, just one of laziness and being out of shape.  My knees are quiet, always a good thing. Now is the time of year to begin including hills, and lots of them, into my routine.  It is just too easy to become afraid of hills on the bike, to avoid the hills on the bike, because, well, because they hurt, particularly if you push on them.  But, oh, how much scenery and beauty one will miss if one sticks to the flats.  I may be getting old, but I am not ready to go there yet, to lose the feel of of your lungs gasping for air, your thighs calling for surcease, your mind trying to deceive you and tell you can't because, of course, the mind tries to quit long before the body really needs to.  And the rewards, not only gained strength, but beautiful vistas and long, quick descents, the kind that require every ounce of concentration because a fall could, most likely would, be disastrous and inevitably painful.  For as much as we like to think we are invincible and/or strong, we are in the end just weak flesh and bones, easily trashed, broken, and torn.  It is the reason I don't encourage people to begin riding.  I will help them if asked AFTER they make that decision, but I don't want the responsibility of talking someone into riding and then seeing them get hurt.  If you ride, you fall.  It comes with the territory.  The question is how badly will you be hurt.  

I think of my frailness as we descend knowing that we have ridden through numerous cinder patches laid down on the roads during the recent ice and snow.  But neither of us flats.  As Jon points out, any flat due to cinders would likely be a slow one, not the rapid deflation that grabs your handlebar. And we are back to the ride start too quickly despite my going rather slowly the entire day.   Still, I am chilly.  Yet again, I overdressed and the dampness of sweat, the worst winter enemy one has, chills me. Due to the late start much of our walk will be in the dark. But thankfully I have dry clothes to change into.  The river is lovely in the dark with lights reflecting out across the water.  Due to the cold, it is mainly deserted other than a man out walking his dog.  Indeed, we meet very few people on foot anywhere on the route despite walking a bit over six miles.

So no century for the day, but a good ride and a reasonably challenging walk.  No rain, just wet roads.....we didn't melt.  And I did, for the most part, other than chilling, enjoy it.  There will be other days for century rides, but I do believe I have become quite the wimp.  Perhaps next go round I'll show a bit more fortitude.  There will be time to rest.....just not yet.  I am not quite done. 

P&Y Plans Foiled: It's All Good

"Sometimes our fate resembles a 

fruit tree in winter.  Who would think

those branches would turn green and

blossom, but we hope it, we know it."

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 

 

 

It is the rare January day when it is supposed to be in the fifties the majority of the day, and so I suggest to Jon that we embark on a lunch ride to P&Y, a place I have become rather fond of during shorter the colder  months.  It is halfway in a fifty mile ride and rather flat.  The food is good and the store is small and normally not crowded.  He agrees and plans are laid to meet at ten and ride for lunch.  

 I do consider chickening out when looking at the wind prediction, but remind myself that  it is not only normal for winter, but relatively mild.  And it is time to get back into shape after a few weeks of Christmas festivities that included overeating and eating things that are decidedly unhealthy. Time to quit being a wimp, something gradually becoming more pronounced as I age.  And despite having my family in, I am ready for a friend.  Don't get me wrong.  I delight in my children and the grands, but visits are demanding in a way friendship is not, particularly with the children still being so small.  

We are both happy to be on our bikes and it feels good to be out.  Even the wind that will be my enemy is almost welcome, still light and caressing my face rather than viciously slapping it.  Sometimes, I suppose, being on a bicycle is like coming home.  How many hours and miles have I spent?  Uncounted and lost along with the Big Dog Site and all the memories the narratives held.  During the first half of the ride I keep thinking repeatedly just how very good it feels to get out, to use my muscles, to see the world however bleak it might be this time year.

I barely notice the long climb up Hatcher Hill, and only later discover that my bike was  in the small chain ring.  Duh, no wonder.  The day is warm enough that I stop at the bottom of the climb and lose my jacket.  Later I will be very glad to have that jacket as the temperature drops and the winds increase, but for now I am happy to stick it in my jersey pocket.  

It is shortly thereafter, right when we are making the transition from city to country, that the funniest event of the day happens.  I hear a cat.  This is a very loud cat.  It is a cat who sounds as if he needs help and I can't ride on by perhaps because a cats meow, according to research, somehow mimic the cries of a human baby.  "Where is that cat?," I ask Jon, only then remembering that the previous night I had changed my phone ring from the Nutcracker to a cat.  I burst out laughing at my own cluelessness and will chuckle about it throughout the day.  Perhaps at least now I will hear my phone rather then tuning it out like the "Yes, Dear" husband who is paying absolutely no attention to the question being asked. Not that I usually answer it if it rings as it is normally a spam caller, just another change the world has wrought during my lifetime. 

When we reach the lunch stop we find it is still closed for the holidays.  We discuss whether to go to Butlersville or North Vernon.  Butlersville is closer.  It is noon and I don't have a light if something would go wrong.  Butlersville will bring us in around 60 miles whereas North Vernon would be closer to 80 and would be a longer lunch.  I am relieved that Jon does not seem terribly disappointed when I say I don't want to go to Vernon.  I am relieved that he knows the route to Butlersville, for I do not.  

We arrive and my intention to begin eating more sensibly vanishes when the girl says the special is a cheeseburger and fries.  The store is crowded and we decide to eat outside at the picnic table.  We both gobble our food as it is cold (the weather not the food) and seems to be growing colder by the moment.  We later lament that we did not have the good sense to eat at the side of the building sheltering from the wind.  But there you have it.  The food was unexpectedly good for a gas station type store. And if we had good sense we probably would not be out on bicycles in this weather, which while warm for January is still quite cold.  

 

The ride home becomes a trial every time we turn into the wind.  But since it will only turn out to be around sixty miles, it is not a real concern, just a hindrance, one that will hopefully help me to become stronger and bloom for spring riding.  Branches will, despite doubts, become green.  Effort will blossom.  And barring illness or accident, there is another year of riding in front of me.  And so, I wish everyone a Happy New Year that includes many hours on the bike knowing that some of them may be more miserable than happy as fitness gives birth, but knowing that the bad days make those good days, the ones where you feel like you could ride strongly and forever and with great joy.  May 2023 be blessed for us all. We finish the day with a few miles of hiking at Clifty Falls, then head to our homes to rest, to build, to prepare for the coming spring.