It's been a few days since I hollered at y'all, and judging by the waning hits to my blog I can tell you guys are getting restless. So, here's another treat for your reading pleasure.
This picture is just a teaser of what's to come. It's a shot along my favorite running route in the whole world. As you start off what I've named "The Richmond Route" you are treated to these trees lining the side of the road. Further off to the side is a hay field that offers a visual treat I can't even begin to describe with words or over-exposed photographs.
Like My Dad Used to Say
When I was a kid, my dad had a few lessons he tried to teach to my sister and me. One was that it's not "Me and Joey went to the store", it's "Joey and I went to the store". He would correct us every time, and after a few decades of repeated verbalEditor's note: The opening sentence is grammatically correct, check that shit out yourself if you don't believe me. Ending the sentence with 'me' is right. Yahurrrd.
The other lesson my father instilled in his children was not to slurp your cereal. The reason he always gave for this was that if I continued slurping my cereal, I'd never get a girlfriend. Not wanting to be a socially outcast unattached adult, I curbed that one right away. As it turns out, I find that guys who slurp cereal, chew with their mouths open and/or talk with their mouths full end up finding girls who do the same. Who knew?
In retrospect, I think my dad may have had another reason for teaching us not to slurp our cereal. That reason, my friends, is that it might one day kill us.
Thursday morning I was enjoying a bowl of Barbara's Shredded Wheat cereal with dried cranberries on top. Damn, what a tasty, nutritious breakfast. At the end of the bowl, I was drinking down the last remaining milk when I spotted one last cranberry. With a slurp, I directed said cranberry into my mouth, but something didn't feel quite right. When I went to chew the cranberry, it was nowhere to be found; I must have inhaled it.
I've spent the next few days waiting nervously for signs of respiratory infection and/or death. Either my superhuman lungs took care of that morsel for me or I didn't actually inhale it, because I feel fine. In fact, I've set some personal records on some of my favorite running routes since the cranberry incident. Read on, players.
It's Not About the Bike
Saturday was a blah, dreary day o'er here in Newe Englande. There were times when it looked like the weather might turn nice and I took advantage of those times to get off my duff and be productive, but the rest of the time I hung out on the couch reading "It's Not About the Bike", by Lance Armstrong.Let me tell you, this book gets the Old Coot Seal of Approval. Even if you're not into bicycling I think you'll find this book to be a worthwhile read. In it he talks about his battle against cancer, his battle to rejoin the world of elite cycling, and how his life changed as a result of all of it. The guy is absolutely remarkable. I'm not afraid to tell you it had me choked up a few times.
Or, maybe that was the cranberry.
I Blame the Bike
My ass is killing me, and it's the bike's fault. I headed out the front door, or technically the garage door, yesterday morning around 10:00 in the AM. After about an hour and a half of riding, we arrived in Williamstown where we sipped Double Shot Schultzy's (two shots of espresso in a 16 oz. coffee) in the sunshine and watched the pretty Williams College coeds parading around in their college coed warm weather attire. There was also a fisherman carrying a gutted fish.After coffee, we headed east along Rte 2 into North Adams, swung a south onto Rte 8 and headed for the Rail Trail. We rode the Rail Trail for a little while, but it was so crowded we eventually abandoned it for the road.
All told, the ride took just a hair over (or under, I can't remember) 5.5 hrs. That of course includes the hour we sat drinking coffee and the combined hour of me waiting for the others to catch up. I can't help it if I'm that fast on the bike. I'm a finely tuned athlete, what can I say?
According to my bike-ride-o-meter, we covered roughly 55 miles in 3.5 hrs of saddle time. As you might guess, saddle time is bicycling speak for time in the saddle. That of course is more bicycling speak for time with your ass on the seat, riding down the road. That averages to 16 mph which is a decent speed, but if you add in the hour I stood at intersections waiting, it ends up being something like 12 mph.
Just in Case You Care
During one of those brief moments of perfect weather on Saturday, I headed out to Richmond to run my all-time favorite route. I had just run it last Sunday in a time of 1:03:xx, a very respectable time, and have been thinking that there's no reason I can't do it under an hour. My goal was to be able to do that by the end of the season, whenever that might be.As I started getting dressed to run I decided that I was just going to bust my ass and beat that hour goal this time. No more effing around, just whip some ass and do it to it.
To put it into perspective, it's about 7.6 miles of rolling hills on dirt roads out in Richmond, MA. Some of the views are so awe inspiring it's hard to keep a good pace, but today I had work to do. The killer is that the last few miles are just up and down hills, with no real rest between.
I knew if I could hit the last turn in under 56:00 I would be home free. The last half mile is slightly downhill and has a cinematic feel to it, with the farms on either side of the maple-lined dirt road (refer to the very first picture, but heading the other direction). You'd swear there's a camera following you, which makes it easy to give it your best.
End result? Oh, I cruised to a victory in 58:01 (40 seconds per mile off last week's pace); placaTAN! With that under my belt, the new goal is to finish under 50:00.
Over and Out,
Old Coot
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