March is probably easily like my most favorite month. Be it because of being my birth month (which I also share with my dad and my son) or being the start of spring, March has always held a special place in my book. I still remember being introduced to the Lion-Lamb concept in Mrs. Mehafee's first grade class. The class would vote on what we thought the previous day was and tally the lions and lambs at the end of the month. Not understanding the concept, I always voted lion (lions are way cooler than lambs). I didn't care, it was a win-win situation: lambs winning meant great weather, lions winning meant maybe a snow day and defeating the lambs!
March is the month when the snowy, short days of winter turn to the crisp and sunny days of spring. The time of the year just before the unstable late afternoon thunderstorms of April through June rolled in. Barnyard football turned to backyard baseball, and if you were lucky, a freak snowstorm got you a snow day on your birthday or extended your spring break.
With no chance of a snow day down here, the month came in like a lion: dreary, rainy, and cold, but quickly turned to lamb-like conditions and reshaped my attitude. Like the green grass or the budding trees, I am reborn. Looking forward to the busy spring and summer ahead, now I'm a lamber.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
A Cobra?
Dream if you can a courtyard
An ocean of violets in bloom...
An ocean of violets in bloom...
Prince
When Doves Cry
Dream if you can a cobra
A vision of violence in bloom...
What I thought it said.
What? It made sense.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Mediterranean Salmon
I made this dish on a whim, using random items I had left in the pantry; turns out it was pretty good. Feel free to add to it whatever you like and vary the ingredients to suit your portions. Sometimes I toss in chopped asparagus for more texture and freshness. Serve with a side of risotto, a mescalin or micro-green salad, and a glass of wine (if you're into that).
Mediterranean Salmon
In a large, deep-sided skillet, sweat some yellow onion over medium-low heat in olive oil. Add garlic and diced tomatoes and allow to simmer and reduce.
Toss in capers, Kalamata olives, and some halved artichokes. More simmering.
Push salmon (steaks or fillets) to the bottom of the pan and spoon mixture on top of the fish. Cover. Cook fish about 4 minutes per side until fish is just pink or still slightly red in middle.
Serve topped with mixture and risotto to the side.
There you have it. Risotto makes an excellent pairing for this dish as it cuts the salt and soaks up some of the residual liquid. Even more so, up until you add the salmon, the dish doesn't require a whole lot of baby sitting or prep work. You can focus on getting your risotto right. The olives and capers add plenty of sodium, so don't add any yourself. I like to eat this meal a day or two before a huge ride. It combines the right amount of protein, carbs, sodium, and good fats for sustained efforts. As for the risotto, stay tuned.
Mediterranean Salmon
In a large, deep-sided skillet, sweat some yellow onion over medium-low heat in olive oil. Add garlic and diced tomatoes and allow to simmer and reduce.
Toss in capers, Kalamata olives, and some halved artichokes. More simmering.
Push salmon (steaks or fillets) to the bottom of the pan and spoon mixture on top of the fish. Cover. Cook fish about 4 minutes per side until fish is just pink or still slightly red in middle.
Serve topped with mixture and risotto to the side.
There you have it. Risotto makes an excellent pairing for this dish as it cuts the salt and soaks up some of the residual liquid. Even more so, up until you add the salmon, the dish doesn't require a whole lot of baby sitting or prep work. You can focus on getting your risotto right. The olives and capers add plenty of sodium, so don't add any yourself. I like to eat this meal a day or two before a huge ride. It combines the right amount of protein, carbs, sodium, and good fats for sustained efforts. As for the risotto, stay tuned.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Wholly Cow
I know, I know, the last time I wrote about doing a century I bashed it. Well, the fact that I did another one, and that in two weeks time I will have done a third should tell you that they are a necessary evil.
It is disgusting what you do to get yourself ready for one of these things. The filth that you put in your body just to keep it going. All sugars: fructose, glucose, galactose, lactose, maltodextrin, and high fructose corn syrup. So much sugar that despite being in glycogen debt, your body begins to reject it. The list of stuff I ate reads like a Atkins dieter's nightmare.
Breakfast:
Oatmeal with cranberries, almonds, and apples
Peanut butter sandwich
Orange juice and coffee
Banana
During the ride:
Four Clif shots (sugar and electrolyte blocks)
Chocolate power bar
Handful of cashews and raisins
Half a PB&J
Washed down with 2 liters of Cytomax (more sugar)
Post ride:
Philly cheese steak
Big ol' bag-o-chips
24 oz. Coke (the extra sugary fountain kind)*
*This amounts to my 3rd Coke in five years. I only allow myself to drink it after one of these rides. Riders in the pro-peloton have been known to down up to 10 of these during a stage. The pick-me-up of caffeine, sugar, and carbonation is second only to an IV.
So it was only appropriate that this ride was sponsored by the Wholly Cow Ice Cream and Coffee shop. The ride left from Ravenel (just south of Charleston) and immediately I noticed the vibe was relaxed. I recognized a few of the locals and a group of about 20 of us rolled out at 9:00. The pace and the weather were brisk, 46-degrees, but both would soon change. The conversation of the pack soon faded and turned to grimaced faces. By about the 50 mile point the pack had been whittled down to about 15 (although we would pick up few more from the metric) and things were beginning to change. I started playing cyclo-banker.
Cycling can be analogous to a bank account. You make deposits and withdrawals, and so long as you don't write checks your legs can't cash, you'll be okay. Until this point, I had been doing my share and feeling pretty good. Then some people began to take some hard pulls, and I almost bounced some checks. Already hurting, we approached a gnarly bridge that would lead to Edisto Island. The group hammered up the bridge as if it were flat and it was all I could do to hang on and regroup on the descent (withdrawal). By the time I caught up, I decided that if I was to hang on, I'd have to sit out a few pulls to recover (deposit). The trouble is, it was about this same time that we turned south and into a nice tailwind. Not wanting to waste it, the group surged ahead. I just kept thinking, "Guys we've got to come back this way, shouldn't we save something for the headwind?" The group had other plans.
At the halfway point, a few of us rolled on while the majority stopped for a break. There were now just six of us, and whether it was lack of numbers or the 20 mph headwind, we had lost our impetus. I kept expecting to be caught by the others, but they were nowhere, so on we cranked. We were working together, or surviving, quite nicely until the lure a another rest stop cost us three more riders. Now down to just three, the other two left me to my own devices. I was the third man on the road, which it was how it would stay for the next 35 miles. For the better part of the next hour and a half, my mind wandered, my legs and brain ached, and I felt like my chest was caving in. I wanted to look at my odometer but I knew I couldn't; the result could be devastating. I had to stop once for water and to pee and with about a half-mile to go, the original group finally caught me. I gave it one more go to get on their wheels and roll to the finish.
I had not felt like that in quite awhile and it was good to be done. What is the half-life of pain? I'll let you know in about two weeks.
It is disgusting what you do to get yourself ready for one of these things. The filth that you put in your body just to keep it going. All sugars: fructose, glucose, galactose, lactose, maltodextrin, and high fructose corn syrup. So much sugar that despite being in glycogen debt, your body begins to reject it. The list of stuff I ate reads like a Atkins dieter's nightmare.
Breakfast:
Oatmeal with cranberries, almonds, and apples
Peanut butter sandwich
Orange juice and coffee
Banana
During the ride:
Four Clif shots (sugar and electrolyte blocks)
Chocolate power bar
Handful of cashews and raisins
Half a PB&J
Washed down with 2 liters of Cytomax (more sugar)
Post ride:
Philly cheese steak
Big ol' bag-o-chips
24 oz. Coke (the extra sugary fountain kind)*
*This amounts to my 3rd Coke in five years. I only allow myself to drink it after one of these rides. Riders in the pro-peloton have been known to down up to 10 of these during a stage. The pick-me-up of caffeine, sugar, and carbonation is second only to an IV.
So it was only appropriate that this ride was sponsored by the Wholly Cow Ice Cream and Coffee shop. The ride left from Ravenel (just south of Charleston) and immediately I noticed the vibe was relaxed. I recognized a few of the locals and a group of about 20 of us rolled out at 9:00. The pace and the weather were brisk, 46-degrees, but both would soon change. The conversation of the pack soon faded and turned to grimaced faces. By about the 50 mile point the pack had been whittled down to about 15 (although we would pick up few more from the metric) and things were beginning to change. I started playing cyclo-banker.
Cycling can be analogous to a bank account. You make deposits and withdrawals, and so long as you don't write checks your legs can't cash, you'll be okay. Until this point, I had been doing my share and feeling pretty good. Then some people began to take some hard pulls, and I almost bounced some checks. Already hurting, we approached a gnarly bridge that would lead to Edisto Island. The group hammered up the bridge as if it were flat and it was all I could do to hang on and regroup on the descent (withdrawal). By the time I caught up, I decided that if I was to hang on, I'd have to sit out a few pulls to recover (deposit). The trouble is, it was about this same time that we turned south and into a nice tailwind. Not wanting to waste it, the group surged ahead. I just kept thinking, "Guys we've got to come back this way, shouldn't we save something for the headwind?" The group had other plans.
At the halfway point, a few of us rolled on while the majority stopped for a break. There were now just six of us, and whether it was lack of numbers or the 20 mph headwind, we had lost our impetus. I kept expecting to be caught by the others, but they were nowhere, so on we cranked. We were working together, or surviving, quite nicely until the lure a another rest stop cost us three more riders. Now down to just three, the other two left me to my own devices. I was the third man on the road, which it was how it would stay for the next 35 miles. For the better part of the next hour and a half, my mind wandered, my legs and brain ached, and I felt like my chest was caving in. I wanted to look at my odometer but I knew I couldn't; the result could be devastating. I had to stop once for water and to pee and with about a half-mile to go, the original group finally caught me. I gave it one more go to get on their wheels and roll to the finish.
I had not felt like that in quite awhile and it was good to be done. What is the half-life of pain? I'll let you know in about two weeks.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I do surveys
As far back as I can remember, I have always found myself enamoured by data. Statistics. Sheer numbers. Organizing everything according to size, color, shape, batting average. I once recorded every inning of an 81 game season I played on Nintendo's Bases Loaded (my cleanup hitter, Norton, banged out 70 dingers that year). Pouring over the data, breaking records, compiling numbers. Not statistics dealing with odds or probabilities, just stats.
Surveys are a statistical gathering method, so naturally, when opportunity presented itself I took advantage. I'd feverishly fill out every survey that came to our door, be it by mail or in person. Sometimes surveyors would come to our house and ask "Are you the man of the house?" Well, if there was a survey to be had, the answer was "Yes I am!" (I guess they didn't notice or question how a 12-year old kid wearing pajamas was able to keep a house in the country). I even filled out questionnaires about my favorite brands of cigarettes, and for it, the company mailed me nine crisp one dollar bills. This survey thing was paying off.
I've done the Nielson ratings, internet and phone surveys, and been asked to try out new household products. People often made fun of me for taking the time to fill them out, but it was worth it. I'd occasionally be rewarded with coupons, products, cash, or more surveys. Last year I even won a $100 to a local Trek store. It was like a coke-head winning free crack and no one laughed at me after that.
I don't do as many surveys as I used to, I just don't have the time. Instead, I'm more selective. Internet surveys often result in an inbox filled with junk mail and little chance of reward (there are simply too many entries). I limit myself to local, phone, and mail surveys where my odds are better. Try it. I promise that the first time you win a hundred (or nine) bucks you'll be hooked too.
Surveys are a statistical gathering method, so naturally, when opportunity presented itself I took advantage. I'd feverishly fill out every survey that came to our door, be it by mail or in person. Sometimes surveyors would come to our house and ask "Are you the man of the house?" Well, if there was a survey to be had, the answer was "Yes I am!" (I guess they didn't notice or question how a 12-year old kid wearing pajamas was able to keep a house in the country). I even filled out questionnaires about my favorite brands of cigarettes, and for it, the company mailed me nine crisp one dollar bills. This survey thing was paying off.
I've done the Nielson ratings, internet and phone surveys, and been asked to try out new household products. People often made fun of me for taking the time to fill them out, but it was worth it. I'd occasionally be rewarded with coupons, products, cash, or more surveys. Last year I even won a $100 to a local Trek store. It was like a coke-head winning free crack and no one laughed at me after that.
I don't do as many surveys as I used to, I just don't have the time. Instead, I'm more selective. Internet surveys often result in an inbox filled with junk mail and little chance of reward (there are simply too many entries). I limit myself to local, phone, and mail surveys where my odds are better. Try it. I promise that the first time you win a hundred (or nine) bucks you'll be hooked too.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Blythewood and Forest Acres...
...or just Forest Acres, and even then, not so much. Woke up sick Friday morning. Mentally sick from the beat-down I took the night before, getting dropped no less than three times on the first Thursday night ride of the year. Physically sick from a sore throat and head cold. Not ideal circumstances coming into the first races of the year.
Ignoring the sore throat and pretending to feel better wouldn't make it go away. Saturday, feeling even worse, I faced a 2-hour drive and the prospect of doing the Blythewood crit in the cold rain. Deciding to cut my losses and have any hope of meaningful racing this weekend, I forfeited my entry fee for Saturday and focused on feeling better, enjoying some time at home, and getting ready for Forest Acres on Sunday. Sunday's forecast: rain, 51 degrees, and demoralization.
Rode up to Columbia with a former teammate now riding for Team CBC. The conditions were cold and soggy, and the course looked gritty and oily. It offered a sweeping downhill finish and a hilly backside. There would be no resting on this one and my focus was all wrong. Instead of trying to be near the front on the last hill section (a key to winning), my mentality switched to staying with the pack and not crashing (a guaranteed loss). This is something I apparently had not learned well enough last season.
After a brief warm up, I stripped off the layers and had enough time for a few practice laps. The steady rain and 49-degree temps made the backside hill feel stiff and the downhill absolutely hypothermic. With no time to spare for the start of the CAT 3/4 race, the layers went back on.
I'll cut the story to about as short as I cut my race. I got popped off the back after only 2 laps, meanwhile, a CAT 3 was soloing off the front to victory. At this point it would have been merciful and prudent to just pull off. I dreamt of warming myself in the car and waiting for the finish. Instead, not wanting to quit, I decided to try and at least get in a good workout and likely a pneumonia too. I was going to finish. I was going to get lapped by the field. Each lap became survival mode. I began looking for the laps to go sign; looking at time past (another no-no).
As the laps counted down, people encouraged me over the hills. This made me feel good and lame at the same time. One fan in particular kept shouting, "Okay, go #424, alright!" I wanted to tell him what to do with that #424.
Soon enough it was over. Shivering and cold, I was finished and finishing paid dividends. In addition to not giving up, I was rewarded 10-bucks for my troubles. I felt guilty for taking it, but it would recoup some of my losses and pay for lunch. Despite my poor showing, I'm glad to have done it. It reminded me that my attitude must change and that I still have much work ahead.
Ignoring the sore throat and pretending to feel better wouldn't make it go away. Saturday, feeling even worse, I faced a 2-hour drive and the prospect of doing the Blythewood crit in the cold rain. Deciding to cut my losses and have any hope of meaningful racing this weekend, I forfeited my entry fee for Saturday and focused on feeling better, enjoying some time at home, and getting ready for Forest Acres on Sunday. Sunday's forecast: rain, 51 degrees, and demoralization.
Rode up to Columbia with a former teammate now riding for Team CBC. The conditions were cold and soggy, and the course looked gritty and oily. It offered a sweeping downhill finish and a hilly backside. There would be no resting on this one and my focus was all wrong. Instead of trying to be near the front on the last hill section (a key to winning), my mentality switched to staying with the pack and not crashing (a guaranteed loss). This is something I apparently had not learned well enough last season.
After a brief warm up, I stripped off the layers and had enough time for a few practice laps. The steady rain and 49-degree temps made the backside hill feel stiff and the downhill absolutely hypothermic. With no time to spare for the start of the CAT 3/4 race, the layers went back on.
I'll cut the story to about as short as I cut my race. I got popped off the back after only 2 laps, meanwhile, a CAT 3 was soloing off the front to victory. At this point it would have been merciful and prudent to just pull off. I dreamt of warming myself in the car and waiting for the finish. Instead, not wanting to quit, I decided to try and at least get in a good workout and likely a pneumonia too. I was going to finish. I was going to get lapped by the field. Each lap became survival mode. I began looking for the laps to go sign; looking at time past (another no-no).
As the laps counted down, people encouraged me over the hills. This made me feel good and lame at the same time. One fan in particular kept shouting, "Okay, go #424, alright!" I wanted to tell him what to do with that #424.
Soon enough it was over. Shivering and cold, I was finished and finishing paid dividends. In addition to not giving up, I was rewarded 10-bucks for my troubles. I felt guilty for taking it, but it would recoup some of my losses and pay for lunch. Despite my poor showing, I'm glad to have done it. It reminded me that my attitude must change and that I still have much work ahead.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Be a Man
Be a man
We must be swift as the coursing river
Be a man
With all the force of a great typhoon
Be a man
With all the strength of a raging fire
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon
We must be swift as the coursing river
Be a man
With all the force of a great typhoon
Be a man
With all the strength of a raging fire
Mysterious as the dark side of the moon
I'll make a man out of you
from the Disney movie Mulan
Badass of the Disney Princesses
Badass of the Disney Princesses
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
American Car Companies
This isn't about the bailout (I don't even know what that means). This is about American Car manufacturers plain getting whooped by their competitors, and for good reason too. You cannot continue to build inferior automobiles at higher costs and expect to survive. Take note of the next five cars you see dead on the roadside, all American. Take note of the leaders of hybrid and alternate fuel technology, Honda and Toyota. For years, Toyota's business model has been touted and revered as a revolutionary way of doing business. Now look at the other side.
Unions pushing labor costs through the roof, causing the Big Three to purchase their parts from cheap foreign countries, all while screaming, "Buy American". American? That's what got us here in the first place. America didn't invent the automobile, we merely perfected a method for building them. Satisfied with this, they (the Big Three) pumped out gas guzzlers, road hogs, and muscle cars for the better part of a century, basking in their fruits. No, wallowing in it. And like most egocentric Americans, they grew cocky and complacent. The Japanese and European automakers crept in and before you knew it they were reduced to pathetic bums asking for bread money. Innovate or die. It is apparent that Chrysler, Ford, and Chevy have chosen the latter.
Oh, and about that innovation, just look at what the newest domestic cars showcase: Blinking tail-lights (wowee, zowee), tape decks (yes, I said tape decks), and OnStar (I guess they were thinking cell phones would never take off). I suppose the OnStar will be useful for calling a tow-truck when your American-made hunker breaks down. These cars don't even have 6-digit odometers! Are they telling us something here? Do they expect their cars to fail? The answer is yes. Again leveraging on Americans' patriotism and stubbornness, they know people will come crawling back. Not me.
Nothing but Honda and Toyota in my driveway. Change the oil and put gas in it. I'll never buy anything else, and chances are, I'll never have to either.
Unions pushing labor costs through the roof, causing the Big Three to purchase their parts from cheap foreign countries, all while screaming, "Buy American". American? That's what got us here in the first place. America didn't invent the automobile, we merely perfected a method for building them. Satisfied with this, they (the Big Three) pumped out gas guzzlers, road hogs, and muscle cars for the better part of a century, basking in their fruits. No, wallowing in it. And like most egocentric Americans, they grew cocky and complacent. The Japanese and European automakers crept in and before you knew it they were reduced to pathetic bums asking for bread money. Innovate or die. It is apparent that Chrysler, Ford, and Chevy have chosen the latter.
Oh, and about that innovation, just look at what the newest domestic cars showcase: Blinking tail-lights (wowee, zowee), tape decks (yes, I said tape decks), and OnStar (I guess they were thinking cell phones would never take off). I suppose the OnStar will be useful for calling a tow-truck when your American-made hunker breaks down. These cars don't even have 6-digit odometers! Are they telling us something here? Do they expect their cars to fail? The answer is yes. Again leveraging on Americans' patriotism and stubbornness, they know people will come crawling back. Not me.
Nothing but Honda and Toyota in my driveway. Change the oil and put gas in it. I'll never buy anything else, and chances are, I'll never have to either.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Ode to Odometer
Turn turn odometer turn,
with every revolution,
gas you will burn.
The odometer. Is there anything more intriguing? Like a hamster mindlessly running on a wheel, so too does my mind wander. Call me a simpleton, but much achievement is brought to me when I turn over the miles. Thankfully, I'm lucky enough to have an older car; one with the analog type odometer, and therein lies the beauty of it all. Putting miles on a car. Watching the next mile tick over. Watching the gas gauge dwindle down thinking, "whoo-hoo, I made it! My car has lasted another mile!"
The newer digital odometers spoil some of the fun. You can't watch them rollover, they just change. You can't anticipate that next mile. You can't push over the ones, tens, hundreds, etc. Nope. Regardless with every passing mile, you can rest assured that you're getting your full nickel. With every passing mile, there are new games to be played. Try it.
Play odometer poker. Look a full house! Four of a kind! A straight! Look for palindromes. 123321 hoorah! The best is undoubtedly when you rollover the thousands, ten thousands, even hundred thousands. Score! Time for an oil change. Better get the tires rotated. Where would we be without the odometer?
with every revolution,
gas you will burn.
The odometer. Is there anything more intriguing? Like a hamster mindlessly running on a wheel, so too does my mind wander. Call me a simpleton, but much achievement is brought to me when I turn over the miles. Thankfully, I'm lucky enough to have an older car; one with the analog type odometer, and therein lies the beauty of it all. Putting miles on a car. Watching the next mile tick over. Watching the gas gauge dwindle down thinking, "whoo-hoo, I made it! My car has lasted another mile!"
The newer digital odometers spoil some of the fun. You can't watch them rollover, they just change. You can't anticipate that next mile. You can't push over the ones, tens, hundreds, etc. Nope. Regardless with every passing mile, you can rest assured that you're getting your full nickel. With every passing mile, there are new games to be played. Try it.
Play odometer poker. Look a full house! Four of a kind! A straight! Look for palindromes. 123321 hoorah! The best is undoubtedly when you rollover the thousands, ten thousands, even hundred thousands. Score! Time for an oil change. Better get the tires rotated. Where would we be without the odometer?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Setting Goals
Each Thursday during Daylight Savings Time, I meet a group of other cyclists for a 40 mile ride through the edge of Francis Marion Forest. And while this may sound quite lovely, I can assure you that it is nothing more than a pain-fest (at least for me).
The ride starts with a brief warm up and promptly turns to moderately hard speed followed by ridiculously fast. It is during this warm up that I'll know what the night will be like. I'll know how my legs and chest feel, I'll know which guys there will make it painful, I'll know if this is gonna suck! My thoughts at this time generally range from "Wow, I feel pretty good" to "Man I don't want to do this tonight" and "Crap, I can't believe that guy showed up". You see, some guys will use this ride as their recovery ride. By all accounts these dudes are strong, but for me, this is my hard-paced training ride.
For me, the goals are to get in a hard ride, ride respectably, assess my fitness level, and not get dropped. The hard ride is a given. It is going to happen. The latter three are not exclusive. To feel good about my fitness, I must ride respectably and not get dropped. To ride respectably, I must not get dropped. I must not get dropped. To ride respectably, I feel that I must do my share of pulling at the front. Maintain the pace and pull for what I'm comfortable doing. This is longer than some, shorter than others. Faster than some, slower than others. I must go until I feel tired, go a little bit longer without exploding (this is key), and then pull off.
The next goal becomes survival. At this point, I'm usually hurting. I have to glide to the back and grab onto the last wheel. Thoughts become "Get that wheel, come here wheel, don't stare at his wheel!" to "Quit, don't quit, quit, don't quit, man this sucks". I usually do some yo-yo-ing until I get recovered and it is about this time that I'm second to the front again and have to do it all over. Doubt creeps in. "I don't want to do this". "I can't maintain this pace". "Ah screw it, it looks like I have to". So back to the front again and back to the key point I made earlier.
At the front, I set goals for myself. I'm going to pull this far, this fast, for this long. I try to maintain the pace and be comfortable for as long as I can and then some. I do this with small mental games. I say my ABC's, count lines on the road, change my breathing, or go until it hurts and then pick a road sign to pull to and pull off. Here's the thing. If you make it to the goal that you've set for yourself an amazing thing happens; you recover, you feel better and stronger, you can go a little bit more. It seems as though the power of the mind and making it actually gives you a boost. You no longer have to worry about catching wheels in the back either. You are revitalized. But if you quit before your goal, you are beaten down, down trodden, defeated. No matter how well you actually did, you're a failure. And that is how you'll feel until you get another chance to redeem yourself and break the cycle.
Goals. I can't wait for Thursdays this summer.
The ride starts with a brief warm up and promptly turns to moderately hard speed followed by ridiculously fast. It is during this warm up that I'll know what the night will be like. I'll know how my legs and chest feel, I'll know which guys there will make it painful, I'll know if this is gonna suck! My thoughts at this time generally range from "Wow, I feel pretty good" to "Man I don't want to do this tonight" and "Crap, I can't believe that guy showed up". You see, some guys will use this ride as their recovery ride. By all accounts these dudes are strong, but for me, this is my hard-paced training ride.
For me, the goals are to get in a hard ride, ride respectably, assess my fitness level, and not get dropped. The hard ride is a given. It is going to happen. The latter three are not exclusive. To feel good about my fitness, I must ride respectably and not get dropped. To ride respectably, I must not get dropped. I must not get dropped. To ride respectably, I feel that I must do my share of pulling at the front. Maintain the pace and pull for what I'm comfortable doing. This is longer than some, shorter than others. Faster than some, slower than others. I must go until I feel tired, go a little bit longer without exploding (this is key), and then pull off.
The next goal becomes survival. At this point, I'm usually hurting. I have to glide to the back and grab onto the last wheel. Thoughts become "Get that wheel, come here wheel, don't stare at his wheel!" to "Quit, don't quit, quit, don't quit, man this sucks". I usually do some yo-yo-ing until I get recovered and it is about this time that I'm second to the front again and have to do it all over. Doubt creeps in. "I don't want to do this". "I can't maintain this pace". "Ah screw it, it looks like I have to". So back to the front again and back to the key point I made earlier.
At the front, I set goals for myself. I'm going to pull this far, this fast, for this long. I try to maintain the pace and be comfortable for as long as I can and then some. I do this with small mental games. I say my ABC's, count lines on the road, change my breathing, or go until it hurts and then pick a road sign to pull to and pull off. Here's the thing. If you make it to the goal that you've set for yourself an amazing thing happens; you recover, you feel better and stronger, you can go a little bit more. It seems as though the power of the mind and making it actually gives you a boost. You no longer have to worry about catching wheels in the back either. You are revitalized. But if you quit before your goal, you are beaten down, down trodden, defeated. No matter how well you actually did, you're a failure. And that is how you'll feel until you get another chance to redeem yourself and break the cycle.
Goals. I can't wait for Thursdays this summer.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Risotto
Risotto is often made with an Italian rice called Arborio. It can be served as a side to most any dish or by itself. Its real versatility comes from the preparation, addition of ingredients, or how daring you're willing to be with it. You can even try it as a dessert.
My risotto tends to be somewhat less creamy than those you'll find in restaurants or in other recipes. As you'll see, this is largely due to the lack of butter or heavy cream (and calories) in my recipe. The result is still delicious. I've included a few of my favorites, but feel free to experiment.
Risotto
Dice and sweat half an onion and some celery in olive oil over medium heat. When fragrant, add several cloves of chopped garlic and a cup of Arborio Rice. Stir occasionally until rice begins to brown and smells like burnt popcorn. Add enough white wine to cover and allow to evaporate.
At this point, I hope you have the rest of dinner on auto-pilot because the rice will need some attention.
When the wine has evaporated, ladle in a cup of hot chicken broth and allow to absorb/evaporate. Repeat one ladle at a time until the rice is al-dente. With some liquid remaining reduce to low heat and add a good handful of finely shredded Parmesan (the better the cheese, the better the risotto). Serve. Eat.
This is the base risotto. Good enough, but in need of some variation. When adding vegetables, consideration should be given to their cooking times. Try these:
Wild mushroom and Butternut squash risotto
Shitake mushrooms add great flavor and texture.
Asparagus and goat cheese risotto
Not a fan of goat cheese? Stick with the Parmesan and toss in some shrimp for a meal.
Applewood bacon and apple risotto
Cook the rice in the bacon drippings.
As with anything else in the kitchen, experimentation is key. Try it.
My risotto tends to be somewhat less creamy than those you'll find in restaurants or in other recipes. As you'll see, this is largely due to the lack of butter or heavy cream (and calories) in my recipe. The result is still delicious. I've included a few of my favorites, but feel free to experiment.
Risotto
Dice and sweat half an onion and some celery in olive oil over medium heat. When fragrant, add several cloves of chopped garlic and a cup of Arborio Rice. Stir occasionally until rice begins to brown and smells like burnt popcorn. Add enough white wine to cover and allow to evaporate.
At this point, I hope you have the rest of dinner on auto-pilot because the rice will need some attention.
When the wine has evaporated, ladle in a cup of hot chicken broth and allow to absorb/evaporate. Repeat one ladle at a time until the rice is al-dente. With some liquid remaining reduce to low heat and add a good handful of finely shredded Parmesan (the better the cheese, the better the risotto). Serve. Eat.
This is the base risotto. Good enough, but in need of some variation. When adding vegetables, consideration should be given to their cooking times. Try these:
Wild mushroom and Butternut squash risotto
Shitake mushrooms add great flavor and texture.
Asparagus and goat cheese risotto
Not a fan of goat cheese? Stick with the Parmesan and toss in some shrimp for a meal.
Applewood bacon and apple risotto
Cook the rice in the bacon drippings.
As with anything else in the kitchen, experimentation is key. Try it.
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