Here’s what worked.

• Wipe as much off as possible with a dry towel.
• Use cool water (not hot!) to avoid opening pores.
• Dawn dishsoap (or any dish soap for that matter, but Dawn worked great) cuts the grease and offers the kind of instant relief that we were after. Lather up generously and wash thoroughly.

Most importantly (but not at all helpful when you’re already mid-burn):

1. Always test embro on a small portion of skin before using.
2. Always apply embro last: AFTER putting in contact lenses or applying chamois cream.
3. Be careful with the super hot stuff, people.

This has been a Grit & Glimmer public service announcement, we will now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

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“Shut up, Legs!” stuck with us because of its simplicity. It’s a universally understood sentiment: the verbalization of the mind-over-body tricks we all try to employ when we’re on the rivet. But the other day as I read back through my written journal, I noticed something I’d written in 2009: Shut Up Legs is about so much more than cycling.

I don’t remember writing that (or even thinking it) but reading it scrawled on that page resonated with me in that moment. I’m prone to beating sports-life metaphors virtually to death, but this one is pretty simple: do your work, get your shit done, stop making excuses.

I receive a lot of emails from people wanting to know “how I do it”. That question could mean a lot of things, but usually they are getting at my lifestyle and work: how did I turn writing into a viable source of income? How do I travel so much?

There are a lot of specific boring tactical answers to these questions (I’m obsessively meticulous with budgeting and tracking money, I’ve made a choice not to have children, I wake up at 5am every day to either write or ride, etc.) but the real answer has more to do with the principles presented in Steven Pressfield’s “War of Art”: Wake up, do your work. Do not tolerate excuses. I wrote for eight years before anyone ever paid me to do it. I did it because I loved it and because I was committed to the inherent value of it. Good things came from that, but good things also came as a result of discipline. I got up every morning and did the work – even when I didn’t think it was any good, even when people told me it was shitty, even when I wasn’t exactly sure why I was doing it or what the hell I was even creating. (Pressfield calls this overcoming Resistance)

Jens rides the way he does because he loves it – that’s clear. He rides with a sense of passion, but also a sense of duty. He hurts himself when he’d rather not be hurting. He guts himself in sacrifice for others and sometimes it doesn’t work out. He goes out and does the work. No excuses. No caving to discomfort. Shut Up, Legs!!

We can’t begin to compare ourselves to this incredible man, but we can learn from his approach. I see it around me all the time in people who are much more accessible. Eryn raises a toddler, works a full-time job, trains her face off, races bikes and spends the winters ski patrolling and the summer’s scurrying up rock faces like a badass (she swears by the 5am workout). My teammate Elise raises three kids under the age of 12, works full time, has a husband virtually kidnapped by medical school, and still managed to pedal her way to Cat 2 road status over the last two years (thanks mostly to a crazy commitment to 5am roller workouts while her kids are still asleep).

If you want it, make it happen. If you love it, make the sacrifice.

Hurt a little. Hurt a lot. Do the work.

Shut Up, Legs!!

Get the T-Shirt.

**

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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End the circle cycle!

This is the third post in a four-post commuting series I am doing for Light & Motion as part of a product trade.

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It was particularly hard to motivate this morning as I laid in bed listening to Biblically large drops crash into the roof above my head. Then I got up, checked my email and found a note from my friend Jodene, who’s been reading my blog – in one iteration or another – since 2002.

The subject line was “cold weather biker” and there, right on cue, was a link to Winnipeg CycleChick, a fun, snarky, inspirational and funny blog (Her about statement: “Everyone needs to believe in something. I believe I’ll go ride my bike.”) written by a woman in Winnipeg who commutes in all kinds of crazy fucking weather, including their recent -29C (-20.2F) days.

The post, called “Dressed to Chill” documents her patented Honey Badger Winter 2012 Collection – a home grown layering approach that keeps her rolling in the Arctic-stupid conditions. Her humor, along with her bundling creativity, were enough to make me end my Portland pity party and head out for a roll-about.

Thanks, Winnipeg CycleChick, for keeping it real and keeping those of us down here in the temperate PNW honest.

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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The Sicilian and I went out together with an agreement to take things nice and easy. Two things happened: first, I stopped coughing and felt amazing. My head cleared up and I blew snot rockets like my life depended on it. Who needs that brain-eating Neti Pot anyway??!

The second thing that happened was that Sal rode too hard. I was super grateful to have his wheel in the first place, but I couldn’t hold it. When he dropped me the third time (always sitting up politely to wait when he noticed I was off the back), I rolled up beside him and asked him to hand me his Garmin 500. I could tell we were both a little frustrated. He wasn’t riding fast, I just didn’t have anything to give. He wanted to ride together and he wanted to put his face in the wind for me, but he didn’t know how slow he had to go. Luckily, with power, there’s an easy way to communicate such things.

I set the display to show average lap power, hit the lap button, handed it back to him, and gave him an target number: one that I knew would allow me to ride in my low-endurance zone on his wheel. When we started off again, I watched as he struggled with the low number, switching to easier and easier gears so he could spin.

It worked.

In fact, I went from feeling like I was going to have to turn around after 45 minutes, to being able to put in a 4-hour ride that I rather desperately needed. The rain rained, the sun shined and the rainbows, they did their rainbow thing. We laughed and waved at baby cows and battled headwinds and split a cheese-and-chicken sandwich at the end of Sauvie Island Road. My cough all but disappeared and I felt almost human again.

That cycling stuff? Magic, I tell you.

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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Cyclocross Nationals is in Wisconsin this year. In January. Yes, you read that right – Wisconsin in January. (Average low temperature in January? 8 degrees. Average snowfall 10.1 inches.)

I’m into epic awesome hard shit and everything,  but damn that sounds cold. And the Sicilian has lobbied hard for a beach vacation getaway in place of shelling out to go race bikes (at the back of the pack) in the fucking North American tundra. I have to say, his arguments sound better and better.

This is the exchange that went down between Gary Fisher, USACycling and I:

GF: I did the CX nats in Wi in 1979, 8″ of snow the night before, are you OR folks wimps or Americans?

USACycling: Great chance to show the rest of the world how tough American ‘cross racers are! #PartyintheSnow at #CXnats

HS: I think I showed the world my “toughness” when I lost two toenails to frostbite at Nats in Bend 2009. #notawesome [For the record, it was 4 degrees that morning.]

GF: ok, you are in the toughness club, nuf said…

*

Various other Twitter voices added to the discussion, bribing with the promise of frozen volleyball courts (??) or reasoning that it’s no worse than Belgian winter. (Average low temperature in Brussels is 34 degrees, no snownfall info available on Weatherbase.com – going to go ahead and say that Madison January trumps Belgium handily…).

It’s pretty much guaranteed that it’s going to be ass cold, lots of fun, and memorably challenging. But for $1500-1750 (two tickets, bike fees, hotel fees) there is a reasonable argument in favor of the tropical alternative. Especially given the fact that I’ll be getting mowed down by a bunch of age-group crushers.

Is the beer that good in Wisconsin?
Should I do it for the cheese curds?

Who are you and why the hell are you (or aren’t you) going to 2012 Cyclocross Nationals in Madison?

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I tore something important in my knee.
I won’t be racing Alpenrose.
I might not be racing for a while.
I’ll definitely be getting surgery either in the next few weeks or at the end of the season.

It happened quietly in the middle of last Sunday’s race at Barlow. I slipped out a little in some slick mud. Didn’t even come off the bike all the way. Just a little bobble.

I was aware that something bad had happened inside my knee, but I could still ride and (gingerly) run, so I kept pedaling and finished the race. Later, a series of tiny pain explosions in my knee kept me up almost all night. I hobbled to the bathroom in the dark and groped desperately for pain meds. That’s sort of when I started to realize that this might involve more than a few days off the bike for healing.

All initial examinations indicate it’s the meniscus in my right knee. MRI next will give us more complete information. After that, if I can rehab enough to race relatively well, I have the option of racing out the season and getting surgery afterward. If I can’t race well I won’t do it and, so far, I have a lot of pain with walking and any quick movements. Running and jumping over uneven ground don’t seem even remotely possible, but I’m staying open to all possibilities.

I’ve been quiet about this all week for two reasons: 1) I have more questions than answers until the MRI and that’s very frustrating for me 2) talking about it makes it more real and, well, more depressing.

This happens to everyone – I know because the people that I’ve talked to about it all have some kind of story to share – but I gave myself a week to be super fucking bummed out about it. Just because it’s common doesn’t mean it doesn’t blow huge chunks.

I know that I’ll heal fast.
I know there are far worse things.
I know that there’s all kinds of rad stuff I can do instead of racing cross.

But I need a little time to get used to the change in my season.

Thanks for your patience while I search for my rally cap.

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And not in the normal cyclocross way like what happened last year at Hood River where you pop up right away and everything is cool – closer to the big, mean scary way that happened last year on the road. This shit happens, this is what we do. It’s normal.

Still, goddamit that hurts.

For the record, I’m fine. I am missing skin on left shin, knee, and thigh as well as right hip and elbow. I’m also a little scraped up around the ribs and solar plexus where I landed on… something. My hip hurts more than anything and I’ve got a beautiful limp for the moment, but the scariest injury is probably a slight knock to my little head. I don’t remember much about crashing and didn’t think to check my helmet until I woke up in the morning with a rager of a headache. (I know, I know, I’m being careful.)

I still don’t know how or why I crashed, but it happened in the middle of  a rippin’ singletrack descent. The computer file shows my speed around 20mph. I was flying (for a cross race). I had half a lap to go, was feeling great, and was dead-set chasing down third place. I remember just before the crash coming through a loose corner and thinking, “You’re taking too many risks.” Should have listened to that voice I guess.

The bottom line is, I went over the front to the right, landed on hip and hit my solar plexus on the bike, bounced forward a little and tagged the head (my helmet is slightly dented) then flipped somehow to land on the left side of the trail. When I stopped moving, I couldn’t breathe because of the solar plexus blow so I started panicking a little. I pulled my bike off the trail so I wouldn’t kill anyone else and laid still, gasping. I haven’t taken a solar plexus blow like that in 20 years – I forgot how terrifying it is. When Steph came through a few seconds later, she asked if I was ok and I asked her to tell someone to send a medic. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to get up by myself.

I did, of course.

After a while on the ground (a few seconds, a minute? Time gets funny when you crash.) I started to be able to breathe again so I stood up and looked around. Then I started walking down the hill toward the hairpin turn at the bottom – the course marshal was running toward me, asking me if I needed a medic.

“I think I can ride.”

Both levers were mashed in and I wasn’t sure the bike would roll, but it did. So I finished.

There is nothing very spectacular about the crash aside from the myriad lessons hidden within:

1. I was feeling good heading into the bell lap. This was the first time that had ever happened – I’m usually gassed because I’ve gone out too hard. I finally had gotten the formula right and I got excited. Lesson: it’s ok to get excited, but for godsakes stay calm. STAY CALM.
2. Ride smart. I did not need to ride that section through the woods very fast. My strategy should have been to clear all technical sections safely, then use the power sections to close the gap.
3. Ride within your means. Because I was excited, I probably rode outside my means. Sometimes you have to test your boundaries in order to expand them but doing it in the 5th lap of a race that you have worked hard to stay on the front of probably isn’t the best time. This goes back to riding smart.
4. Contrary to all the lessons above, sometimes it’s ok to fucking go for it but you might pay a price. Be prepared.

What I love about cyclocross is that you have to make all these decisions and choices while you’re lung is coming out of your chest and your heart is about to blow the fuck up. It’s hard. Sometimes we make the wrong decisions. I like to think that every time I learn a hard lesson like this, it will help me race smarter later.

That crash could have been much worse – I’m lucky to have all my bones and ligaments (and the rest of my season) intact.

Also, a huge thank you to Steph for slowing to check on me and then spreading the word that I’d gone down. Thanks also to the amazing women in the field, all of whom called out to me as they passed to make sure I was ok.

We were having a great race that day – lots of changes in the lead, lots of healthy battle. I’m excited for the season, honored to be racing with you all, happy to be mostly unbroken and on my way back.

Thanks for the love.

Swift

Pre-crash. Photo by Michael Jones.

Post-race. Not lovin' life. Photo by Matthew LaSala

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This is something that you have to play with a little to find out what works for your specific body, but there are a few general guidelines that will help:

1. Your last full meal should be consumed about 3 hours before your race (any closer and you’ll still be digesting when the gun goes off which doesn’t feel so nice, believe me.)
2. Take in some kind of synthetic or easily digestible carbs in the hour prior to your race. This is one of the pieces that can be pretty personal. See my pre-race schedule below for examples.
3. Eat something for recovery as soon as possible after your race. Ideally, this would be a recovery drink within 15 minutes followed by some real food. It can be very uncomfortable to eat after a race, but I’m pretty diligent about choking it down – I find it really makes a difference for how I feel later that night and also for recovery from the effort.

What It Looks Like For Me

I usually race at 2:00pm and this is what I do:

7:00am: Steel cut oats, 1 egg, spinach.

11:00am: Either PBJ or Oatmeal with brown sugar and dates (if the Bob’s Red Mill crew is out at the race serving it up free!)

1:00pm-2:00pm: Three Clif Shots or a Gu + about a half bottle of water max (100-ish easily digestible calories) while I am on the trainer. Many recommend sipping a calorie/electrolyte drink during this time instead of water, but I have found that it consistently comes back to haunt me. Right at 1:00pm I usually also take some Sport Legs (these work better for me than Hammer’s version, but you have to figure that out for yourself) and wash them back with a Red Bull.

On the line: As long as my stomach’s ok, I’ll eat another Gu or a couple shot blocks on the line before the gun. I keep this little pre-race hit tucked into the leg of my skinsuit. If someone’s around with a water bottle, I’ll have a little splash and then… GO TIME!

Post-race: After I stop vomiting (only sort of kidding), I drink water and try to drink a recovery drink within 15 minutes. Something like Hammer Recoverite works fine. After I clean up and change clothes, I’ll knock off a PBJ or maybe a turkey burker if the Portland Velo grill is roaring.

At home: Another complete meal with good carbs (yams, bulgur wheat, soba noodles are some of my faves), lean protein and vegetables.

This isn't going to be pretty. Photo by Tracy Smith.

Whiskey not mentioned above, but sometimes necessary for revival.

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Go hard on Wednesdays.

Yep, that’s it. Especially if you’re racing both weekend days (seems to be the new trend in Portland what with the super kick-ass Molly Cameron Gran Prix in play), you need to spend most of your time recovering and going pretty easy. ‘Cross is an intensive, crazy-hard effort and it takes a toll on muscles. Go too hard too often and you’re gonna get mighty tired, mighty quickly.

So, what does “go hard” mean? Again – don’t over-think it. If you haven’t done much training before, find a big hill that takes you 15-20 minutes to climb. Do it twice at race pace or just a little under race pace (it should hurt). Don’t stress about the exact amount of time between intervals or the length of the interval or your heart rate or any of that crap. Just do it – HARD – twice. The trick is to make your hard days very hard and your easy days very easy. You don’t get stronger when you’re beating the crap out of yourself up Saltzman, you get stronger during the following hours and days when your body is repairing itself. Recovery is your friend. Alternately, if you train at a medium endurance pace all the time, you will race at a medium pace.

On Mondays after a race weekend you should be off the bike or spinning super easy. For other days, throw in some steady endurance riding – or not – the great thing about ‘cross is that you can really get by on very minimal training hours, you just have to make the time on the bike really count. Throw some skill practice in for good measure.

Speaking of Skills

I have been helping Russell Cree teach his Thursday night women’s clinics at Alpenrose and there are always a ton of questions from beginners about mounts and remounts. I’ll tell you plain and clear: the only way to get better at these things is to practice – again and again and again and again. Repetition is your friend. If you ask Russell about this he’ll tell you some really long story about the four phases of motor memory development. I’m not gonna do that to you, I’m just going to call you out. You’re not practicing enough. Do I sound like your childhood piano teacher yet? Good.

It comes down to an approach that I call “100 throws and catches”. That’s how my mom made us start every softball practice as kids. 100 stupid throws and catches. We groaned and moaned, but at the end of the day we busted suckers because our fundamentals were solid. And I can still huck a softball 60 or 70 miles per hour and hit a catcher from deep center.

A final note about remounts: yes, these are harder than dismounts. Yes, it will take longer to get it right. You are not alone – everyone goes through this. But, remember this:

Even if you have a stutter step, you’re still getting back on the bike pretty quickly. You’ll be ok, it will work for right now. Keep working on it, but don’t freak out. It’s not the end of the world. It will come. Stop obsessing over it and work on being smoother and faster through the barriers – you should be running over them, not leaping.

(And if you want to get rid of that stutter step? Yep, you guessed it – go practice a lot.) Or come to a clinic!

Finally, if you really want to geek out and learn all of the nitty gritty obsessive shit there is to know about LT intervals and VO2 torture and crap, well, consider hiring yourself a coach. Totally not necessary to have a boatload of fun racing ‘cross, but pretty fun for those of us who consider ourselves our own favorite science experiment and can’t leave well enough alone.

When I finally got rid of my stutter step, I went a little superman! Not recommended.

When all else fails, just make a mean face. Starcrossed 2009.

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