Narcissus Spinning

Just call me Narcissus for a moment. Since I started riding my bike again a year ago I had been curious about muscle development and changes in my body profile. Let's just say that I started this process last September as a doughy man in search of exercise. I think I'm still on the doughy side, but in much better shape and I've found an obsession.

Since it's cold outside (or, actually, today it's warmish and wet . . . I could have ridden outside but the wife and I are coming off nasty colds and I didn't want to spend the afternoon as a snot fountain) I was doing high-speed sprints. The Carmichael Do The Tour Stay At Home Stage 17, to be exact. Yes. THAT Stage 17.

When I'm out riding I see other cyclists who are clearly high-level riders. Often, as they pass me, I marvel at the striations of their muscles and the clear dedication they have. I often think, "Hey, I'm dedicated. And, also, I've noticed a huge change in my body profile and see new musculature on my legs. But given the placement of my head, I can't tell what's really going on."

Admittedly, I've wanted to do this for a while. In fact, I should have documented the whole physiological change I've gone through. It would have been interesting. To me, at least.

Anyway, to those with strong stomachs, here is a brief history of my calves (not including the boring, sedentary version):

May, 2006 (Rearish view):
Six months of riding, non-action shot. The calves are coming along nicely. The V of the musculature is developing. I also remember at this point when I was stretching prior to a ride I had to pay particular attention to the calves because they always felt a little tight and, if it were cool out, I would develop cramps on longer climbs.

December, 2006 1 (Rear View):
You can't see much in this photo, but I'm in mid sprint, standing in the pedals. Yes, I'm wearing white athletic socks (cycling socks dirty) and I have black shoes, which are so two years ago. Whatever. My wife couldn't quite catch the right moment where the downward force of my pedal stroke causes the muscles to flex. However, I can see the total change in the leg as a whole.

December, 2006 (Side View):
Ugh. I'm reluctant to show this photo because it shows how sloppy my pedal stroke is during a sprint. Haven't quite gotten that down yet. But, I'm proud of the development of the musculature.

Why am I proud? Because I've become athletic. I'm in the best shape of my life and, honestly, I've found a hobby that I love. It's an expensive hobby and it really is more of an obsession.

What this represents for me, other than grossing you out, is a huge accomplishment. An accomplishment that I'm proud of for more than personal reasons:

Perhaps because of my constant riding, I can count at least five adults who have taking up riding. Whether I'm responsible or not, I'm happy that these people have found something that they can enjoy and put them on a path health and happiness.

What's great about cycling, that I hope they will discover, is that you can choose your daily path. One day you can take the bike out and torture yourself with a brutal, fast ride that tests the very limits of your abilities. Or, instead, you can go for a ride with the family and enjoy a nice day as a family. If you wish, the bicycle can be your vehicle to a hidden world, and you can take a bike trail (such as the KATY trail) on a weekend adventure.

The bicycle has opened up a whole new world for me, one that I had glimpsed when I was 12 and obsessed with the moving Breaking Away. When I rode my 10-speed, which was a heavy, Sears special, I felt like it could take me anywhere I wanted to go. It never really did, of course. I was a kid, but it took me all over the neighborhood and survived some pretty stupid, dangerous races with my friends.

Now, that little black Specialized? It really could take me anywhere. Except, now I understand that it's just the wheels. I'm the engine, captain and navigator.

So now it's time to set my goals for 2007. I accomplished all but one of my 2006 goals (alas, I did not ride a century), so I'll move that one over. I wouldn't have guessed that I'd ride 4,600 miles or ride through a national park, climbing climbs and passing people on the way while still being able to chat and talk on the climb. In January of this year, all of those goals seemed impossible. And I'm sure that's how I'll feel in 2007, but I'm dedicated to trying. Because, after all, one thing I've learned that a bicycle is good for is showing you where your personal limits lay and giving you the motivation to test and overcome those limits.

Please Help

I've been sick all week, yay. So I haven't felt much like posting, though there are things I'd like to write about, such as memes and kid crap and testing subscription music services to my bike's new tires and cassette (which I still haven't gotten to try out).

But, instead, I want to know something very important:

Why are the lyrics to Steve Perry's "Oh Sherry" still stored in my brain? Couldn't they be overwritten? Why, after not hearing the song since fifth grade, am I suddenly able to call up the entire song by simply hearing the first chord?

This is wrong. And it also brings up a list of songs I'd like to purge. Including, but not limited to, Kajagoogoo's "Too Shy". I need the memory space. Jeeze, I can clean my hard drive but my brain is cluttered. I can't tie my shoes, but I can sing Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages" in its entirety.

Sigh. Can't there be Floyd Landis News so I can bitch about something?

Edited to add the following songs:
The Power of Love by Huey Lewis
Freeze-Frame by J. Geils Band
Almost Paradise by Mike Reno and Anne Wilson.
And also, but mostly, every Loverboy song.
Most Van Halen songs (I have a disturbingly detailed memory of the catalogue from between 1978 and 1992. From drum fills to guitar solos--called up from the reserves at a moment's notice.)
Any song released to capitalize on the 1984 Olympics*, but mostly The Runner by Manfred Mann

*I worked with a guy who, I shit you not, bragged about how he met Cuba Gooding, Jr. as part of the break-dancing team that performed at the opening ceremonies. I'd tell more of the story, but he would be easily identified and humilated. If he hasn't been already.

So, This is Christmas?

Here I sit in an easy chair in our bedroom typing on the laptop, hoping to squeeze in a few minutes, maybe even hours, of work while a pathetic five-year-old lays delirious in our bed, fighting a high fever. Her preteen sister is completely unconscious in her own bed, hopefully to wake before dinner. She’s not sick. She just sleeps a lot these days. And doesn’t bathe, unless we force her to. It’s like living with a monkey with fashion sense and good grades.

But the little one is fighting a high fever. She was attacked by the fever yesterday during the winter party in her Early Childhood class. Five minutes into it, just as they were starting all the activities, getting out the games and spreading out food, she had to go home. She cried. Nay, she wept.

You see, she had been waiting for weeks for this party. She had planned her outfit, made sure it was clean, tried on special shoes. She was dressed to the nines, in her velvet winter dress and fancy shoes that didn’t match, but were purchased for her cousin’s wedding. It didn’t matter. They were the nicest shoes she owns and this party was important.

She planned ahead. She had to go to the sitter’s before school and she planned on telling her to let her eat light because there would be lots of food at the party. And they did have good food. But poor Gert never got to eat a bite. Instead, she was at home burning like a furnace.

Now she’s lying on my bed watching Christmas specials. That’s right, she’s sick only a few days before Christmas, the Super Bowl of a kid’s year. There are parties and family gatherings that need to be gone to, presents to be gotten. But if this fever runs the course the school thinks it will run, she will be doing exactly this until next Thursday. Seven days of fever, high fever and general malaise. We’re hoping they're wrong. We’re hoping that Matilda doesn’t get it. Mom and I can handle it. Jack us up with enough Advil and coffee, we can do anything. But a kid? Missing a Christmas party?

Life sucks.

Last night she came into our room at four o’clock and crawled in bed with us. She told Mom that she heard a voice in her room and that’s why she was here, not because of the nuclear reactor generating heat in her body.

“What did the voice say,” Mom asked.

“Have fun,” Gert replied in her Tom Waits voice.

Not sure if the voice belonged to the Ghost of Christmas on Layaway, we all decided at that point it was safer to stay in bed until the sun rose. It was a chore because I really had to pee.

But there she lays. Three days before Christmas, two days before my family’s Christmas blow out. Sad, little lump that she is.

She’s perking up now thanks to the alternating course of Tylenol and Advil (whatever doctor came up with that idea was a genius), but we know that it’s fleeting. Soon the fever will rear its ugly head and send her back down. She’ll look at me with her heavy-lidded gaze and I’ll wish I could fix everything.

Instead, we’re going to the kitchen to have some Cinnamon toast. I think I’ll use red and green sugar to make it a little more festive. And maybe we’ll sing a carol or two while she feels okay.

After all, she deserves her holiday party. Even if it’s just on a piece of toast.

Man's Best Friend's Best Friend

My wife said that Finnegan the Wonder Dog (Border Collie, esq.) needs a buddy. She thinks that watching me work all day is boring and that Finn needs a best friend he can talk to and plot my overthrow with.

I have a new proposal. Finnegan doesn't need another dog. Finnegan needs . . . well . . . watch:



I have to thank Boing Boing for reminding me of this. And Whiplash's homepage.

Diabetes Breakthrough?

This could be good news for diabetic mice. Hopefully it'll be good for diabetic people. Like me.

Here is the original article, Ars Technica, and New Scientist.

All this via Geek Press.

Now, hopefully this will pan out. I've been diabetic for 25 years. In that time I've taken roughly 32,000 injections. This, of course, does not include the pin prick to draw blood for glucose testing and, of course, my quarterly oil check for my A1c with the doctors. So, as you can see, I have a vested interest.

That being said, if I ever do get cured I'm going to eat my weight in donuts. So, maybe I need to discipline myself first.

Who Loves the Sun?

I got out of bed around 5:45 this morning so that I could make coffee and get to work about an hour earlier. Why, you ask, when I work in the basement?

Because with Matilda's middle school schedule, Gert's early childhood schedule and mom's work schedule, it's been hard finding time during the week to ride the trainer. Oh, sure, if it's nice out I'll find the time to ride on the road, but indoors doing one of my pre-designed workouts? Let's face it, it's not fun.

Well, you say, why not ride after dinner? Well, that's true. But I feel like crap when I ride at night. I don't know why. I'm a morning rider, to be honest.

So, the plan is to work for an hour or so while Gert eats and gets ready for school. Then, take her to Diana's to play for the morning. When I get back, ride the trainer, shower and work until dinner is ready. That way I keep the fitness level, ride in the morning and have time to shower before going back to the grind.

The problem is, the morning comes so early. If we could move it back to, say, noon, that would be so much better. Plus, I'm toiling over the organization of one of the books I"m working on and I fear I'm becoming obsessed. I woke up at 4 a.m. worrying about it.

I quickly pushed it aside, though, by thinking of 12 Christmas Carols That Never Caught On. They were funny. Of course, I forgot all of them. Except this one:

Santa Knows What You Did in the Garage

p.s. The local news just played The Shazam. Wow. I never thought I'd hear that.

Wanna Spend Some Money?

Ever curious about how cycling position effects oxygen uptake and preferred cadence during climbing at various percentages of peak power output? Sure you did! A guy who contributes to one of my books has recently published in the European Journal of Applied Physiology. Check out the abstract and, if you're into it, download the article. It's only $30. He's looking for feedback as well. Go for it!

I'll be buying it after the first of the year (new tax period!). Groovy.