humor is a panacea

What is this? Week three of 2012 - mid January? Already, I've slid on back down the sides of that dumpster I've been dwelling in for the last two months. Those sides, it appears, are oily, thick with black goo, slick and greasy. Sliding back down them into my patterns of laziness and "I'll start tomorrow" was so, so easy. It would take far more effort to climb out, get the stench off (and out) and start over again.

In case you have no clue what the hell I'm talking about, I'm metaphorizing my attempts at getting my cycling back up and rolling and my fitness on track for the new year. I have big plans in 2012, ones I'm determined to keep, but I can't do so if I don't kick start my training once and for all. And from one week to the next, the momentum coughed, choked and died.

Part of it (most of it) is in my head. I over think and can't see past the end of my nose let alone the bigger picture. Two Saturdays ago, I rode with Bob on a route that was tough for sure, but I endured and impressed myself. Then, last week, Monday through Friday, when I promised myself I'd work out every day and eat healthy, my efforts puttered out within two days. Mostly, I walked for exercise, only reporting to the gym one day, and that workout was middling at best. There are all sorts of reasons (excuses) as to why this happened, but none of them are worth sharing.

Then, this past Saturday, I had a ride planned. First, it was a solo 50 mile route on my mountain bike. That changed when GT emailed me, asking if I wanted to ride up Stunt Road with him. Two days later, he had to cancel (for very good reasons). With my heart set on Stunt, I lost the desire to ride on dirt all by myself (not to mention that Nellie needs a tune-up desperately).

In the past when ride plans/partners changed, my inner cyclist would kick me hard in the ribs repeatedly, forcing me to ride whatever route on which my heart was set. But at present, she has no kick left in her. I can't blame the poor girl. She's been horribly neglected, at times completely ignored, and sits somewhere within me eating Cheetos, drinking PBR and playing video games on the Xbox. Frightening but true, she couldn't give a shit anymore if I get out on my bike, and this in turn has depressed me terribly (not that I don't deserve it!).

So, instead of riding this past Saturday, I went hiking. Nothing wrong with that except that it isn't in keeping with my goal to get my cycling fitness back. Plus, I had a meltdown (actually before the hike). I realized that I haven't ridden up Mt. Baldy in two years and this just about sent me jumping off the ledge (from my kitchen window and down to the parking lot below would likely only result in a broken ankle, so I wasn't all that serious). Not only was I distressed to not have ridden it, I was downright hysterical over the hard, cold fact that I couldn't ride up that mountain at present even if someone rode alongside me with a cow prod. Yes...I'm that out of cycling shape.

my riding partners beneath a gorgeous So Cal sky...

it just got prettier...

the palm trees never get old...

Flash forward to yesterday, when I rode with Bob and his friend, Fred. I was graciously invited along on their two-man torture fest from Sherman Oaks, out along Ventura, up Mulholland, down Nichols Canyon, back up, out to Sepulveda Blvd. and home. It's only 26 miles but, good Lord, is it painful! I've ridden it before (at least three years ago) and not in its entirety (no Nichols Canyon before), so I thought it would be tough but not that tough. Were I in some form of riding shape that was somewhere near fit, it likely would not have been. But now? It damned near killed me.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning. Bob parked in my driveway and we took off into the bone-chilling morning air to meet Fred just down the street. Fred is a tall, lean cyclist...with long legs. The moment I saw him, I knew I was in trouble. Bob had already told me that Fred had a time constraint. Translated from male vocabulary, he meant "you'd better move your ass." Sadly, the ass I had on me yesterday was not easy to move. My legs, the primary ass-movers, were in no mood and, quite literally, quit on me once I'd chased the men down (and slightly up) Ventura to where Mulholland begins.

barely hanging on their back wheels...

heading toward Universal City...

Those skies!...

no, really...

The climb up Mulholland from Barham sucks it. I'm not kidding, either. It's stupid steep, wears out its welcome quickly, and for this out-of-shape cyclist, was just cruel. Bob and Fred flew up it, dropping me like a...(oh, you know). I pedaled in my granny panties, sweating in the cold, wheezing and miserable. I stopped briefly at one point to pull off my full-fingered gloves. Hot fingers are beyond annoying! I also needed that brief break to catch my breath. It was here that I began sobbing.

Likely, I should never admit on here when I cry for no damn good reason. But my sense of humor is one that allows me to take my most pathetic moments and expose them like overly-lit porn. Only then do I revel in my gracelessness enough to somewhat make up for it...somewhat. Yesterday, on Mulholland, I was a mess. Crying never does me any good in these instances, especially when I'm already full of snot, and when it's cold enough outside to freeze that snot to the inside of my nostrils. I'm sure I looked a pitiful mess when I finally caught up to the guys at the top.

almost to Barham and Mulholland...

Up Mulholland..
Ouch...is all...

"Heyyyyyy," Bob said, smiling his usual bright smile, not looking as if he'd suffered at all up that hill even though he'd ran nearly 13 miles the day before. "Ready for Nichols?"

I grimaced back, hoping it would be interpreted as a smile. "I'm going to skip Nichols Canyon," I panted. "You boys go ahead and I'll wait for you here."

"No. You're going down it and back up it." Bob smiled again, just as brightly as he had before.

Bob, whom I have gotten to know over the last year, love and respect and am so grateful to have as a friend and loyal riding buddy, has yet to deal with my nasty, Irish temper. I'm not sure I will ever unleash it on him, because he is just too easy-going and mellow to bring it out of me. But standing on Mulholland with him and Fred staring at me expectantly, I felt my blood beginning to boil. It was "quit there and ride home to lick my wounds" or "HTFU and STFU and ride your damn bike." Which do you think I did?

Nichols Canyon, by the way, is lovely. It goes way, way down to Hollywood Blvd. at the bottom. We stopped just before that, turned around and began the climb back up. It was here that the sniveling sad sack disappeared. I can't say my inner cyclist appeared (she didn't) but I do believe I got her attention long enough to get her to turn off the Xbox.

Nichols Canyon...

Can you spot Bob? (snicker)...

there he is!...

At the top of Nichols is a very steep section to climb (note here, the road is not called Nichols at the top, but I can't remember the name). I tacked it mostly but didn't necessarily suffer, and the best part is that I wasn't that far behind the men. This helped me regain my composure.

"I loved that canyon, thank you, Fred!"

"Oh, you're welcome," he replied. "It's a good one."

"Have you ever ridden Stunt Road?" I asked him. Leave it to me to throw out a tough ride I've ridden to somehow divert attention from my lackadaisical efforts! I can only imagine that Bob had to have snickered at this, but I never turned to see.

The rest of our journey was on Mulholland. If you've not ridden that, you should (assuming you ride). It's so beautiful up there, and yesterday in particular, the skies were amazing. Lots of riders were up there, including the La Grange crowd. Many of those riders are courteous and fantastic, but some are a-holes! I saw a huge group completely fly through a red light that they should not have. And they did it brazenly!

There was a "La-hooser" moment when I pulled up to the stoplight at Laurel Canyon. Bob and Fred had already crossed and were waiting on me when I stopped behind a very nice group of male cyclists (not sure if they were La Grange or not). As the light turned yellow on the other side, I pulled over into the right hand turn lane to take off immediately when the light changed to green so as to pull to the right of the male cyclists. The light never turned green, so I stopped, confused, in the turn lane.

As luck would have it, a car pulled up and honked at me to move out of the turn lane. So, I moved to the left to let the car turn. Then, a motorist in an SUV turning left on Mulholland scolded me ("Duh! That's a turn lane, you know?"). I stood there with a group of men on my left and two men waiting on me (and witnessing all of this) embarrassed.

"Hey, guys?" I asked the group of cyclists. "Doesn't this light turn green for us?"

"Did you push the button?" was the reply I received.

I had to laugh at this. Any other time, I'd likely have lost my temper, but not yesterday. I already felt like such a loser for my pitiful efforts and making the men wait. Here I was, stopped at a red light, half-way in the turn lane, being honked at, scolded and spoken to as if I was just downright dense - when in fact, those dumbasses were there a good 15-20 seconds before I was! Why the hell didn't one of them push the button?! (smacking forehead)

the valley beneath those skies from heaven...

more climbing on Mulholland...

final stretch back...

Humor is a panacea for sure - and yesterday, I finally got my attitude in check by simply laughing at it all. It's just a ride, for God's sake! - and a good one at that! I was dying on the last few miles back. Fred had to bid us farewell early (look forward to riding with that sweet man again), but Bob and I finished the route in its entirety. My legs are still shot today! I hiked (yes, again) this morning and could feel the climbing punishment left in them. Secretly, I dug it. After all, I need it!

Next week, rain is in the forecast. Bob has already managed my expectations but encouraging me to ride my trainer if we can't ride outdoors. Lucky am I to have such a good (and patient) friend to rely on in the next few months. I know myself well and this weekend's melodrama will likely be repeated at least one more time this year. That's okay. As long as I keep working toward that ride up Baldy, the rest will come. I must just remember to keep laughing at it all between now and then.