Early morning spin-ups

The alarm gently pushes into a technicolor dream; the waxing moon is still high in the sky at 5am and the room is fairly bright, bright enough to find the watch and kill the sound.  Janet is exhausted and immune to both the moonlight and the watch alarm's chirping and to the various old-guy sounds that my body makes as I swing the carcass out of the bed.  There's time for a latte and I justify the need for some calories before a workout on the rollers.

I'm stiff and sore.  Pain is usually delayed two days after an activity.  Sunday's marathon was followed by difficulty with stairs on Tuesday and Wednesday's basketball game against the students (we won!  Check out the video) has resulted in an generally achy sensation everywhere.  I have faith that the latte will fix that.  If it doesn't, my strategy is to put my training clothes on.  I agree with my self that if I put my clothes on and get the bike ready and still don't feel like working out, then I don't have to.

Of course, I'm lying to myself, but that's OK; it's early and I'm not quick enough to catch on to the deception.

I cue up a video distraction on the computer, noting that the Tour of California will be shown on Cycling.tv.  My bottle is full, the workout selected.  Today will be a set of spin-ups to work on leg speed.  Not overly taxing on my old, recovering body, but important to keep developing the sprint.  After a fifteen minute warmup with some accelerations, I hit it hard in an easy gear for 30seconds.  Cadence hits 140, stays there, starts to drift down to 135 and then comes back up and the 30 seconds is over.  Four and a half minutes to spin easy, same gear.  I'm pleased.  The legs feel better than I thought, I successfully tricked myself into riding early again and I thought my form wasn't too bad in that effort.  Now, just seven more times.

Winter Spring

Today a small window opened and fifty five degrees of warmth blew in (at 20-25mph from the southwest).  The snow, so carefully layered on the ground over the past three months, flowed into storm drains, pooled in low spots on the road and generally disappeared in a whoosh of springtime euphoria.

Still a bit sore from my morning ski two days ago, I jumped through the opening into spring as well, tweaking my rear derailleur cable tension (just installed some new, semi-sealed cables last week) at 6am, digging through the drawers for my springtime gear and spare tire, and loading the bicycle into the car.  With skis on top of me, and my bike in back, I was set for whatever silent sport the weather forecast offered.

After a winter of cold slate skies, there was something both glorious and sad about the warm tailwind pushing me along Old Highway 20 east towards Dubuque.  About 48 hours earlier I was skiing in 9 degrees of crystaline magic, thinking about cold toes and wondering if I waxed too cold for the day.  Now I was descending the line of Sundown Hill, thinking of past experience of potholes on fast corners, listening for traffic and feeling like this was just too easy.

The snow was completely gone now.  The wind had dried most of the roads and, at the bridge just west of Graf, the ice was a jumbled mess of slabs hung up on the rocks.  Bittersweet thoughts: it would likely be another nine months before I would ski again in Iowa.  That's the beauty of winter sports, be it skiing or snowshoeing or skating; we learn to look forward to the cold, the snow; the approaching cold front from the Rockies and the moisture pushing up from the Gulf aren't threats but promises, chances to touch the feeling of flying through the forest without effort or sound.

I climb the hill past the bridge.  It pitches at first, forcing me into the lowest gear for a bit.  A glance at the computer tells me I'm putting out a good effort, around 350watts.  'Duh' my quads say.  I can feel a tiny bit of ache in the legs yet, but it's sandwiched between strong feelings of euphoria.  I'm back outside on the bike, I'm riding up the climb.  Life is pretty darned good.

Mornings in the sun

The first ten kilometers glided by in a pleasant blend of sunlight, a blue for colorful skin suits, heavy breathing and smiles. The skis were fast, so fast the expected resistance of ski-on-snow was not there and more forward lean was needed to avoid falling backwards. Fastwax recommended two layers of highly flourinated salmon over a layer of blue with a topcoat of pure flouo, and I had a set wasxed that way, but today it was 10 degrees andthere wasnno new snow, so the other skis with the finer base structure were the choice and they were flying.

We looped north on the 58k trail, splitting from teh 35k skiers (about half of the field), riding the light tailwind and feeling the sun on our backs. I wasn't looking for a personal best today; this was a day to build more base miles in the legs to prepare for the Birkie in two weeks. 'Ski with joy.' was my mantra. I smiled as I thought my Karl and Johann racing the day before in the 7k Miniloppet.

They were both successful. Johann, coming off of a Strep infection, still on antibiotics and skiing with swollen legs that would have sidelined most people, deciding to forgothe 4k course in favor of the longer 7k course and crossing the finish line in downtown Mora with a huge smile on his face. Karl, lining up in the front at the start and getting into a five person pack, reduced to three at the trail split and then getting fourth for the 7k race. Character, confidence, and the joy of skiing beaming in their faces.

I needed that memory at the halfway point as the trail softened and the my legs started feeling weariness from the relentlessly flat trail. Smile, ski with joy and have a highly caffeinated Gu shot. Much better. How many left? Mth gets difficult, dividing 30k by 4 Gu packs... 2 kilometers later the answer pops through the gauze.

The trail snakes through the private land of hundreds of land owners on a trail that, for the most part, is only groomed for skiing once a year. Each crossing is manned by groups of local volunteers shoveling snow onto the road, holding back traffic and ringing the cowbells that create the unique background noise of ski events.

For some reason, the ten kilometer marks are significant for some reason. 50k comes very quickly, a quick note to take it easy; 40k, will the whole race go this fast? A comment from a skier behind from Thunder Bay "We're doing a sub 3hr pace!" 30k, I get passed by a JV skier on a climb and my legs are getting into trouble. 20k, another hill? I thought this was a flat race. 10k and now the push for the line, my body is not my own, the legs aren't listening to me and I eat my last Gu, circle behind the Mora ski center and head towards the bell ringing at the edge of town, up the incline onto the soft snow of Main St. around the corner...

'And there's number 477, Chris Sauer from Colesburg, another Iowa finisher!'