An experiment — 1 month in

For those who might be interested, it’s been 1 month now since I started my experiment.

I can say in all honesty that I’ve done ‘something’ in German every day since then.  Some days it was small — like listening to a podcast.  Other days I’ve worked on an online course from Deutsche Welle.

Have I noticed a difference?  Yes, without a doubt.

But I think that more would be needed if I wanted to become truly fluent.  10 or 20 minutes a day is better than nothing, but probably not enough.

(note: this is a rough translation of what I wrote here)

An experiment

I’ve decided to undertake an experiment over the next year.  Sort-of a ‘New Year’s Resolution’, starting a bit early.  I’m going to try doing something — no matter how small — “auf Deutsch” (in German) each day, and document it here:  http://taeglichepraxis.wordpress.com/

I started learning German around 2003, then worked in Germany between July 2006 and March 2007.  I would say that I reached an ‘intermediate’ level of fluency at that point.  Since then, without using it every day, my German has gotten progressively worse.

I decided then to do something more concrete than just “improve my German”.  One of the purposes in writing it down will be to see just how much changes in a year, with minimal but consistent effort.

It’s easier to write when you have a bunch of problems

Huh. I would not have guessed that it’s been 6 full months since writing anything here.  A few people have asked, so I checked.  Kind of fitting that the last post was about the first race back.  I guess it’s easier to write when you have bigger problems to write about.

The short version of the racing season goes like this: it went better than I feared, but not as well as I’d hoped.

I was able to race regularly, but not as much as I’m used to.   I actually raced at times, rather than just riding along with the pack.  Won a few races.  But when things got really hard I was often at my limit. A lot of the time I felt nervous.

The big problem was that I just couldn’t train hard, consistently.  Hard races or too much hard training would make my leg hurt.  Not a tired-hurt, but hurt deep inside somewhere (which would move around to different places).

I’ve accepted what my orthopedist, massotherapist, and physical therapist have told me: my anatomy is different now; it’s not going to be the same. Which doesn’t mean that it can’t still get better: looking back since May, things  continue to improve (but often in a two steps forward, one step back sort of way).

Maybe the biggest adjustment has been in learning to continuously make adjustments — both in attitude and in what I do physically.  I still have this constant — and I mean literally constant — awareness that my leg just feels different now.  I’m not sure that will ever go away (at this point, it doesn’t feel like it will).

One aspect of the ‘continuous adjustment’ was getting a full-on, medical bike fit at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine. More on that in another post.

***
Update: Apparently I jinxed myself by writing this, as I woke up in the middle of the night with leg pain, and couldn’t ride. I’m blaming it on hammering a Strava segment 2 days ago. Stupid Strava.

Arizona by the numbers

Shawn and Aaron have their summaries here and here.

Here’s mine:
Cities visited: 2 (Tucson and Phoenix)
Number of unpack/repack cycles: 6
Days riding: 12
Miles ridden: 820
Feet climbed: 38,000
Farthest day: 101 miles (Madera Canyon)
Longest day: 99.8 miles, ~7 hrs (Lemmon)
Minutes riding in circles trying to find my hotel: 40
Times passed by hipster on fixie: 3
Times seeing hipster on fixie not able to stop: 3
Flats: 0 (Continental Gatorskins!)
Saddle sores: 2 (one on each side)
Visits to chiropractor: 3
Lost credit card: 1
Snickers bars eaten: 8
Best coffee: Le Buzz (Tucson, bottom of Mt Lemmon)
2nd best coffee: made with my Aeropress
Best lunch: Epic Cafe (Tucson)
Best dinner: Cup Cafe (Tucson)
Best pizza: Il Bosco (Phoenix)
Favorite stretch of road: Picture Rocks Rd, Saguaro National Park (see photo)
Favorite climb: Mount Lemmon
Least favorite climb: Mount Lemmon
Least favorite road: Most anything in Phoenix
Seemed like a good idea at the time: following Shawn, Aaron, and Sam on the dirt

Mount Lemmon, on top

The day after arriving in Tucson I tried riding up Mount Lemmon with Shawn. It did not go well. By mile 13 I was feeling pretty horrible. Trying to climb another 14 held no appeal. “I’m ready to go back down”, I said.

As with many things these days (so it seems), I needed to go back and conquer that demon.

This time I rode it more sensibly, at a pace that would let me enjoy the view rather than one that made me suffer.

At mile 13 it occurred to me that I should be grateful — and happy — just to be able to ride like this. 10 months ago I wouldn’t have imagined doing such a climb. It’s not that Lemmon is brutally steep. It’s just so darn long: you keep going up and up and up.

Actually it’s the perfect climb for where I am right now: it requires patience.

I made it to the part where most people stop — at the Cookie Cabin — then made the right turn on Ski Run to go up the final pitch to the “tippy top”. That is also the steep part of the climb, the part that you can’t really fake.

25 miles of patience allowed me to to finish those last 2, out of the saddle most of the way in the 39×26. I was on top of the world, any way you want to interpret that.

Back to Double-A

After last week’s bad experience doing the Shootout ride, I didn’t really want to do it again. But on the other hand I was feeling like I needed to do it.

I happened to be reading about MLB spring training going on out here in Arizona, and about guys doing rehab assignments in the minor leagues.

There was my solution: I would do the “old guys” ride, which leaves 10 minutes before the (real) Shootout. That wasn’t what my ego really wanted, but it was the solution that made sense.

I hooked up with the group about 15 minutes into the ride. The group was pretty big — 60-70 riders, and not many of them “old guys”. 10 minutes later they passed the “Game On” starting point.

Whereas last week I was doing all I could do to just hang on, this week I was actually riding at the front and going with attacks — a familiar, yet at this time very strange sensation. It’s been 10 months since I last felt that.

When we finished the hard part, I stopped and waiting for Shawn and Aaron who were coming up with the Big Boys. We rode up Madera Canyon, and I knew that had been the right decision. Had I done the fast(er) ride, pretty sure I would have been limping home (again).

I also had the voice of Jim Behrens in my head, telling me that I’d done the right thing. (thanks, Jim)

Dr. Feelgood

I often have the (misguided) tendency to look at the human body — my body — as if it were a car: something is wrong, you take it in to the mechanic and get it fixed.

That’s been one source of frustration over the last 10 months. Between seeing the ortho-, physio-, masso-, chiro- … I’ve very badly wanted to ‘get fixed’. Unfortunately none of them can order a new part, open the toolbox, and simply replace it.

But the thing is: they’ve all helped, each in their own way, and so I’ve learned to allow them to help.

From the moment I got off the plane in Phoenix last week, my leg didn’t feel right. Apparently sitting on a plane for 5 hours was enough to do … something. Add a walk through the airport schlepping luggage and a 2 hour drive to Tucson, and it’s even worse

I was hoping that riding would work it out, but it didn’t. Maybe easy riding would have, but it’s hard not to take advantage of 80-degree sunshine. 4 days later I was limping noticeably.

How do you deal with that, 2000 miles from home? Sit around and rest? Not really an option.

Through the magic of the Internet, I was able to find a ‘mechanic’ just a couple of miles from where I’m staying: a chiropractor who does Active Release Technique. I called at 5pm and they got me in by 5:30. It wasn’t pleasant. He found some tender spots that had me sweating and brought tears to my eyes.

But it helped. A second visit, no less unpleasant, had me out doing an easy 2 hour ride, which made the unpleasantness worth it. Now I just need it to help enough to get me through 5 days of riding back in Tucson.

The last 10% is most of the problem

I think that we don’t fully appreciate the magnitude of separation between “good” and “great”.

In absolute terms, it doesn’t seem like that much. People ask me how close I am to where I was before I got hurt. I estimate 85% – 90%, based on numbers I’ve seen on the trainer. Only 10-15% off. That doesn’t seem like that much. I can do 4-5 hour rides and 15-hour training weeks.

But what we don’t appreciate is how big that last bit is until put in a racing context. It’s huge. It’s the difference between making it and not making it

As I rode over to the Shootout ride in Tucson, I considered it would be the first real test of how far I’d come. I also acknowledged that it was a milestone to even be there in the first place, riding in a big group of fast riders. Being able to ride in a group was a test itself: I still have some lingering psychological effects that keep me from being completely comfortable on the bike.

The real test came when the ride passed the traffic light after which it is “on”.

I was OK for a while, following wheels near the back. It was so familiar, even though last April was the last time I did it. I knew what to do — my body knew what to do. It felt good to be going harder than I had since last May.

I glanced at the number my power meter was reporting. It was way above anything I’d been doing. That was encouraging, but there was no way it was going to last. Eventually I would have to sit up and let the main group go.

85-90% isn’t good enough when the real stuff happens. If it’s me, last year at this time, I’m up there with Shawn and Aaron in the group, no problem. That last 10-15% is the difference between being there and being off the back. It wouldn’t seem like that would make such a difference, but it does.

I was told — get some perspective, you had a serious injury.

Intellectually, I know that. But being there, in the mix, with fast guys around me, it’s like the body knows and remembers what it was able to do, and it still wants to do that. And that just doesn’t turn off because the mind knows something.

… with a little help …

This is one big note of thanks to teammates and friends in the cycling community — local, and beyond: all those who sent cards, get-well-wishes, and most importantly words of encouragement and support. (and, today, all the birthday wishes)

Perhaps you don’t — and before this I didn’t — appreciate the impact that it has. Without that contact it would have been much easier to withdraw and feel isolated.

Or doubt being able to get through it. When everyone just assumes that you’ll be on the bike again, you start to believe it yourself.

So here we are, not quite 5 months out, and I was able to celebrate a birthday with a 50 mile ride. Back in May I couldn’t imagine doing that. Even 10 days ago, it hardly seemed possible.

Thanks to everyone who — knowingly or otherwise — helped me get to this place.

Love from a cane

Having one of those days (or weeks) where all you get is crap from others? Here’s a tip: get a cane, or crutches.

This morning someone said ‘excuse me’ and moved out of the way so I could get coffee. Three different people (including the VP of Advanced Technology) opened the door for me.

Last weekend at the farmers’ market in Chagrin Falls I noticed people would move aside to give me room to walk, or pull their kids out of the way, lest they bump in to me.

It’s rather startling. And makes me think: why do we need such an excuse to show some simple kindness to another person, or just to have some basic manners?

I think my daughter knew this, instinctively: back when she was maybe 7 years old, she asked for a set of crutches for Christmas, just to be able to walk around on them. I think she knew: people would be nicer.

There is another side to the coin, though. After 4+ months of this, I’ve found myself wanting to say, “C’mom man, I’m capable, you don’t need to treat me like I can’t open a door.”

Kind of ironic that I’d rather have them treat me like crap, just like they do to everyone else.