Alaskan Pack Fodder

In my flurry of fall bicycle-related consumerism, I bought a wheel.   It's a Chinese-made, 88mm carbon tubular rear wheel. I went in with low expectations, and was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the product- especially given the price. It's nothing mind-blowing, and the wheel components aren't all that impressive. I bought it to back up my disc wheel on my TT bike for hilly TTs or when side-winds made using the disc a white-knuckle fight for control. I may also use it for flat crits and road races, depending on how it rolls. It's certainly not a wheel that will see use every day.   The more I look at it, the more I think we're somehow related. We're both fatter than the majority of the competition. We're heavier than the majority of the competition. Our components are of questionable quality. We require specialized care to keep all of those components from flying apart. We may look good to the uninitiated, but anyone with ...

I feel fine. At least, I think I do.   I'm no longer doubled over with intestinal cramps periodically, praying that whatever was causing the discomfort would come out one direction or another. I'm back to pretty much eating whatever I want without any side effects (other than the usual weight gain and lethargy).   And yet, when I get on the trainer to knock out a workout, I am not all there. I'll start off great, grinding away at a decent wattage and holding it without killing myself. Then about 30 minutes into the workout the wheels will come off. My legs will feel empty and weak, my heart rate will steadily climb the levels much higher than normal, and I'll limp my way to the end of the workout.   A week ago, I was knocking out workouts much harder than this and still felt like I had more in the tank. Now I just want to curl up with a fuzzy blanket and watch Anthony Bourdain on TV.   My body isn't processing food properly just yet, even though it ...

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After two days of staying home with a sick kid it was bound to happen. I woke up this morning with a good night's sleep (for a change). The back didn't hurt. In fact, nothing felt off at all. I got on the bike, stared cranking away, and within two minutes I could barely turn the pedals.   Nothing there. The guts started knotting up, so I backed off to a little above Recovery pace and tried to see if things would turn around. They didn't. At the 30 minute mark, covered in sweat and still not putting out any wattage, I decided to call it a day.   I don't know what bug I have, but I don't like it. It seems like every time I hit my stride and start feeling good, something comes along to knock me back down. The only thing I can do now is brush myself off and start all over again. If I don't, I know I'll feel even worse in the long run.   This kid is trying to kill me. He's cute. He's lovable. But obviously he...

While it's fun for a day or so, eventually I get sick of the hazy feeling from the pain medication and muscle relaxers. I don't enjoy walking around like a zombie, unable to come up with a suitable zinger in response to a co-worker's insult. I don't like being off my game.   I took a couple days off the bike, and then started up again. Mainly it's been moderate-intensity grinds, instead of high intensity intervals that I usually do. That's alright, since I really need to get used to grinding out higher consistent wattage on the trainer.   Today I went off the medications. I was able to get more accomplished in a shorter time at work, and I was still able to crank out puddles of sweat on the trainer. So far, so good. If my back doesn't get any worse, I'll set the drugs aside and let the chiropractor do his thing to get me in shape again.   The weight is still there. I shouldn't be surprised, since I haven't made a concerted effort to get rid...

This time last year I took an ambulance ride I don't remember, after my car was rear ended. I woke up in an Emergency Room not knowing where I was or what had happened.   Yesterday I took another ambulance ride, but I was awake. I was in the middle of my annual fitness test, which up to that point was going quite well. My back strain from the 'cross race was starting to twinge during the push-ups, but I thought I could gut out the rest. I was wrong. I was steadily knocking out the sit-ups when something snapped in my back. I tried to rest and knock a few more, but that was a mistake. My pig-headed pride caused even more damage.   They carted this old man out of there on a stretcher. Every bump the ambulance hit sent stabs of pain up my spine. It took awhile, but the eventually got an IV in me with some drugs to dull the pain somewhat, then sent me home with a bag of narcotics.   Now oxycodone and Flexeril are my friends, and the world is a little fuzzy aro...