Water, Water Everywhere.
My hydration strategy has historically been... flawed.
Usually I'll drag along a couple of bottles brimming with the latest and greatest electrolyte replacement substance known to man, and return four hours later with one and a half bottles of the latest and greatest electrolyte replacement substance known to man.
I don't usually respond to the usual indicators to drink, like you know, thirst and stuff. Even when everyone around me is quaffing down bottle after bottle, I don't get the hint. I usually wait until the world goes a little fuzzy and the strength flees from my legs before I cave in and take a sip or two. No more than that, because I might need it later if things get really bad.
I can get away with it in Anchorage most of the time. I usually only sweat twice a year on the open road, on the really hot days. On the trainer, I usually can stumble to the kitchen if things get really bad.
I can't fake it down here. I have to drink, and I have to do it semi-regularly. If I'm out for more than a couple hours, I have to plan for convenience store stops or find friendly, non-Zika contaminated faucets along the way.
I actually enjoy the convenience store stops.I get to clomp down the aisles in my cleats, basking in the cool air. I get to wait in line with the fat people, clutching their familiy-sized bags of pork rinds as if I'm going to snatch them out of their hands. They give my sweaty, salt encrusted pile of lycra a wide berth. I buy a liter of water. They buy two liters of Mountain Dew. I ride off to get lost on my bike. Their 1992 Mercury Sable's fan belt squeals as they pull out of the parking lot for their three-block commute. We live in different worlds.
I'm hoping to learn effective hydration strategies and habits while I'm down here. To start, I've made a conscious effort to drink three Blue Moon Belgian Whites after every ride. Wheat has carbs. Carbs are energy. I'm carbo-loading.
Sleep. School. Ride. Eat. Drink. Repeat as necessary until I can go home. I just have to do the last one more effectively.
Usually I'll drag along a couple of bottles brimming with the latest and greatest electrolyte replacement substance known to man, and return four hours later with one and a half bottles of the latest and greatest electrolyte replacement substance known to man.
I don't usually respond to the usual indicators to drink, like you know, thirst and stuff. Even when everyone around me is quaffing down bottle after bottle, I don't get the hint. I usually wait until the world goes a little fuzzy and the strength flees from my legs before I cave in and take a sip or two. No more than that, because I might need it later if things get really bad.
I can get away with it in Anchorage most of the time. I usually only sweat twice a year on the open road, on the really hot days. On the trainer, I usually can stumble to the kitchen if things get really bad.
I can't fake it down here. I have to drink, and I have to do it semi-regularly. If I'm out for more than a couple hours, I have to plan for convenience store stops or find friendly, non-Zika contaminated faucets along the way.
I actually enjoy the convenience store stops.I get to clomp down the aisles in my cleats, basking in the cool air. I get to wait in line with the fat people, clutching their familiy-sized bags of pork rinds as if I'm going to snatch them out of their hands. They give my sweaty, salt encrusted pile of lycra a wide berth. I buy a liter of water. They buy two liters of Mountain Dew. I ride off to get lost on my bike. Their 1992 Mercury Sable's fan belt squeals as they pull out of the parking lot for their three-block commute. We live in different worlds.
I'm hoping to learn effective hydration strategies and habits while I'm down here. To start, I've made a conscious effort to drink three Blue Moon Belgian Whites after every ride. Wheat has carbs. Carbs are energy. I'm carbo-loading.
Sleep. School. Ride. Eat. Drink. Repeat as necessary until I can go home. I just have to do the last one more effectively.
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