Updato Weekendo

These days I awake almost every Monday morning to find the "Updato Weekendo" from Dad. I love hearing from him just to know what's going on and how he's feeling about life. I always find even the most mundane of weekend updates quite compelling. I've encouraged him to start a blog of his own, but he's hesitant. So, in his place, is my "updato weekendo."

Friday afternoons are almost always wonderful these days. Micheal Rea organizes a team recovery ride like clockwork. With the new listserv that I started for the team, people are emailing and showing for rides more and more too. In an effort to mix things up, Michael was offering a prize for the best socks. Of course, nobody had a chance against the pink polka dot knee-highs that Begem gave me. Along with the purple and white cow spotted Williams kit, it was a massacre. My prize? A giant oatmeal raisin cookie. So, so sweet. All friday afternoon recovery rides are followed by the requisite and ever-so-Euro cafe break at the Dirt Cowboy. We sipped, we relaxed, we laughed. It was awesome. So awesome, in fact, to inspire a team dinner to follow at Michael and Trevor's house. Karl and I headed home, showered, picked up chicken sausage, beer, and root beer, picked up Elle, and headed out. We cooked, we laughed, we acted a team. Again, so much fun.

Saturday morning brought the usual errands. Grocery trip. Got a new fan at Walmart. I even stopped at JoAnn fabrics. I needed some heavy duty thread to mend the strap that I had ripped off of my new Sidi's the day before. I had to use pliers to push a heavy duty needle through the Lorica. Still, they seem good as new. Karl and I cleaned 18 Drake. I did my laundry list of bike repairs, including swapping the stems on the road and cyclocross bike. The Serotta finally feels right and racy. The cyclocross bike no longer feels like I'm stretched out on an ironing board.

In the afternoon, I met up with Elle to go pick blueberries. I sported a backpack full of empty yogurt containers as we rode up River Rd to "Super Acres." The blueberries are already excellent. We picked for a long time in the perfect afternoon summer sun. We ended up with about 6.5 lbs of blueberries at $2/lb. We enjoyed some freshly baked pumpkin-chocolate chip bread that Elle had made. We cruised back. I picked up some farm fresh ground beef too. Considering that my iron saturation was a little low, I now have an excuse to pound the red meat. Unfortunately, the evening brought a strange and unfriendly stomach ache.

Karl and I have had an excellent time with the Elle thing. What *is* it about? Was that a date? All I know is that I love awkward silences. After one has been through enough relationships and one realizes that there are no consequences anymore, one craves anything that makes it seem exciting and new. She may be squirming, but I'm secretly jumping around and laughing like a little girl inside. Hehe. Even if it wasn't a date, I'm still loving that awkwardness. Hopefully she doesn't read this...

Sunday's weather was a bit more questionable, so I got up, ate, rolled out the legs, and headed out. After talking with multiple team members about my frustrations, I think that I've figured out part of my problem. My intense hunger to ride and my newfound endurance have manifested themselves in the form of almost exclusively long, medium-hard rides. My tempo pace is strong, but I've offered my body few opportunities for recovery. And I shouldn't be surprised that it hurts when the pace kicks up. I've done almost zero threshold training. In years past, my life was intervals on the rollers. It should have been no surprise that I would bonk after 15 minutes in those days too. So, the obvious choice now after a bit of rest is upping the intensity, shortening the rides, and regular rest. That made the 28 Miles of Hell the obvious choice after a couple days of rest. Even with a wrong turn that elongated the flat sections, I had still done over 2500 ft of climbing at 15 miles. I felt remarkably good hammering up 21% grades. After surviving the deadly Chow at the top of Eastman Rd, I thought that I was in the clear. I was hardly expected a stupid Beagle to run out of nowhere on the 40+ mph descent of off Methodist Hill. I nearly died. He nearly died. Screw him. Before I screamed and did an emergency turn, my wheel was headed square for his neck. He honestly might have been decapitated.

I spent the afternoon making Indian food and then eating meal after meal of it. A good weekend.

My "new" class starts orientation today. I still can't quite figure out how I feel about the whole thing, but the uncertainty obviously produces some anxiety. Today I'm speaking at the student affairs orientation. Basically, I'm going to tell them why I'll show up randomly at the end of November. Nothing like telling a crowd of 80 strangers that you had testicular cancer.

A brief update on my heath: My legs and torso are covered in lovely, sickly-brown bruises. Both hands are doing better, but still hurt at times. My poor right hand is really going to need some time to get back to normal. It is so hard for it to heal when I use it for everything. I can still feel that something "isn't right" inside my right ring finger.

Hope everyone out there is well.