Self-amputation: the future of sports medicine

In an uncharacteristic move of forethought for the big ride in July, I went on a Saturday 'morning' solo training ride. Unlike my usual weekend routine of getting out of bed at the 'late' break of dawn (i.e. 1:00pm), I rolled out at the ungodly hour of 10am. Seeing how traffic was light and few people were out and about, I think there is some law I am unaware of that prohibits people from roaming the streets before noon (I think it has to do with sunlight-sensitive zombies roaming the streets before the sun reaches its peak).




After riding downtown and a short ferry cruise to Bainbridge Island, I attempted the Chilly Hilly bike route but got lost and cut the 40 mile route by 5 miles. Still feeling frisky, I decided to ride to the Vashon ferry dock in West Seattle. I was staying hydrated (I'm still digging the Nuun tablets) and fed (Vanilla Gu and a couple of bugs that flew into my mouth) the whole time, so I was able to maintain a good pace (of which, much to my later chagrin, accidentally caused me to blow through a Pioneer Square construction zone, irking some city road workers).




Almost reaching the beachfront Lincoln park near the ferry dock, my lower left side of my back and leg started to get whiny about some sort of discomfort and pain. This is nothing new, seeing how my left leg is longer than my right, resulting in a compromised bike fit that accommodates both legs. The conflicting thought processes of each leg humored me along the way. My left leg was bitching along the lines of 'Dear God, please stop so that we can stretch. Otherwise, just chew me off and leave me behind' (I attempted to find a picture of an elderly person stretching by googling 'elderly stretch', resulting in this picture of two dudes with what looks like a twin-spout flamethrower).




The rest of my body was all 'Fuck you, left leg. We got a good rhythm going, so suck it'. This arguing kept on going for a good 15 minutes, until a decided to compromise by letting my left leg unclip and dangle while the right leg continued to pump away. Once I reached the Vashon docks, I did some lengthy stretching, preventing any further discomfort on the way home. The day's mileage totaled 67.5 miles (I rode up and down the driveway a couple of times to round up the number to that magical 0.5). The Chilly Hilly elevation gain is 2675 feet, but I think exceeded that by tacking on West Seattle and riding to and from Northgate. This sort of mileage and saddle time is in line with what the RAMROD training guide suggests, but I have yet to see any documentation detailing how to gnaw off whiny appendages like a squirrel with a leg caught in a trap.

Highway to the Danger Zone

With exception to a brief career as a professional prosthetic-limb league cage fighter, I haven't done anything consciously stupid of late. Thus, I've signed up for the Ride Around Mount Rainier in One Day (RAMROD) 'ultra-marathon'; a single day 150 mile bike ride with 10,000 feet of climbing.

Such a physical endeavor requires preparation; therefore I've considered the following to ensure a successful outcome:

MOTIVATION: While methods of motivation run the gamut, I tend to find 'the stick' method much more convincing than that of the coddling that is 'the carrot' persuasion. Therefore, I think I might just rock these bad boy duds during the ride:

I'm sure there are those that would agree with me in finding this Nalini Naturino uniform atrociously Euro-trashy, but I can't imagine any other set of clothing that would motivate me to ride faster and harder. Not so much that it has some special design to maximize pedaling efficiency or comfort, but rather it would be sheer embarrassment that would motivate me to finish the ride as quickly as possible so as to unburden myself of the scorn and mockery that wearing these outfit entails.

MIND SET: To help whittle away the hours of toil and sweat, a theme song comes in handy. In this instance, it doesn't get any better than Kenny Loggins 'Highway to the Danger Zone' from the Top Gun soundtrack.

Sure, I've considered Eminem's 8-Mile theme 'Lose Yourself' or System Of A Down's thrash metal 'BYOB', but for this mission, the K-Man is the peanut butter to my slice-banana bacon sandwich. Whenever my pedal stroke begins to slow and falter, I'll just imagine myself as Tom Cruise on his motorbike racing a Tomcat at takeoff, pumping his fist as the jet passes, with good ol' Kenny preachin' truth to the beat of some hardcore synth-rock. Man, thinking about it right now just makes me want to go lift some weights and get a tattoo.

PREPARATION: Treading known paths that others have pioneered will limit the impact of unknown variables and likely increase the chance of success traversing from point A to B, but what's the fun of that? Therefore, my training will be based on the following untested 3-day plan. Here's how it goes:

Day One: Take all of the milestones of a 4 month training session and cram it into 12 hours (this plan still allows you to sleep in till noon).

Day Two: Assess how you did on day one. Make up for any perceived shortcomings with repeated vomiting.

In this process, be sure to replenish lost body fluids with only whole milk and/or chicken broth (vegetable broth is not an acceptable substitute).

Day Three: Kick back, sit a spell. Hungry? Go have a bucket of chicken. Still feeling fat? Go ahead and vomit some more. Oh yeah, don't forget to put some extra air in the bike tires before leaving the house.

The road to hell is paved with...kittens?

With the last day to legally use studded tires passing, I recently removed the snow tires from my car and mounted the all-weather street tires. By the beard of almighty Zeus is there a difference in ride quality. Unlike the tank-like Carmageddon rumbling that accompanies studded snow tires, the street tires deliver a whispery ride, conveying a sense that you’re traversing over a road made of fluffy kittens.

I’ve never traveled over kitten-paved roads before, but I’d imagine this is the closest I’ll ever achieve in having such an experience.