Epic

“You’re gonna die.” When you hear those words, you know a run is going to be epic. Sure it’s an exaggeration, but really it means that a person (or people in this case) think that you are absolutely crazy, and/or stupid, for going out and running. Now, I’ve had epics before – a 20 miler in a downpour comes to mind – but I’ve never run when it was 4 degrees and snowing. Sure I was cold, sure I was wet, but I wouldn’t have changed things one bit.

It’s these epic runs that really make you stop thinking about running and start thinking about, well, anything and everything else. The conditions are so extreme that it distracts you from paying attention to every foot strike, every breath, or even your time. Today my mind wandered. First, I saw another set of footprints in the snow. “Are these somehow mine?” I thought to myself. Then of course, “Maybe I can catch up to whoever it is.” However, eventually they veered off the road to the snow-less shoulder and then disappeared.

Desperately glancing around for the lost tracks, I looked up and saw a fox watching me from up the road. Now, rarely do you ever see a fox, and am unable to remember the last time I’ve seen one, or for that matter if I have ever even at all. This does seem odd to me that although growing up on a farm and usually seeing multitudes of wildlife, my memory file seems to be blank in the fox category. In any case, my fox friend disappeared as well, running into the woods hopefully to be seen another day.

Wanderings often turn into perseverance to finish out a run strong. Still, I didn’t think of every little technical aspect of the run, I just gave it all I had. It becomes a battle against the weather. Each gust of wind, each eyeful of snowflakes just made me hunker down more and just go. Sure the weather threw a few good blows with snow covered ice patches, but I ultimately came out the victor. I ran my best 3 mile time since picking up running again and had a blast doing it.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

- "The Charge of the Light Brigade," Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You Don’t Need a Weatherman to Know Which Way the Wind Blows

Those sorry sorry souls. Every night I drive past them. Dozens of runners at the YMCA running on treadmills, going nowhere. They just remain there in one place the whole time. Sure they have the treadmills all lined up by the window so it seems like they’re running outside, but really come on. They’re just a bunch of lab rats on their little spinning wheels. Really, they should just be flushed. You’ve spent how much money on a gym membership just to run by a window, pretending you’re outside? (Especially for a window view of the beltline highways!)You could have spent the same amount of money or less on some cold weather running gear, maybe a light or two, and hell maybe even still had the cash for Wii Fit if you needed some extra entertainment. What’s so wrong with exercising outdoors anymore?!

Is it snowing? I think I’ll go for a run. Rain? Hmm, a run might be nice. Sub-zero temperatures? Fancy that, a warming scamper around the block will warm things right up. Just stop complaining, stop making excuses, stop thinking and GO!

I’ve already run through just about everything this winter and it’s more than a week till Christmas. Last week we had seven inches of snow, today it was negative degree wind-chills. Rough weather sure, but nothing that layering, donning a face mask, and wearing some wool socks doesn’t fix. Plus, the difficult miles I put in now will only make the miles easier come marathon in May.

Oh, did I mention any of that yet? So yes, I’m planning on doing the Madison Marathon at the end of May. First off, I’m about thirty pounds overweight and second off I haven’t done a marathon since fall of ’06. Basically a marathon was way beyond due. I’m just going to run it to get back into a exercise schedule again and, as I’ve said to a few people, to make friends with running again. I’d like to finish under four hours but if I don’t I’m not going to hate myself.

I’m also playing with the idea of doing the Twin Cities Marathon in October as well. Any cycling passion has been seriously dulled by a daily beating of it at work. Just like I used a bike-less semester in DC a few years back to accomplish the goal of simply finishing a marathon, I’ll use this to qualify – or to see how close I can get to qualifying – for the Boston Marathon. Now, the qualifying time for my age group is 3:10. Right now that’s incredibly fast. Of course, I don’t think it’ll be this next year, possibly not even the next. However, I want to see for myself if 3:10 is impossibly fast. I don’t know, and I won’t know, until I try and push myself to go for it.

“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.”
- Will Rogers

A Foodie's Delight

I’ve often been known to have a random personality. Well no, I’m not an emotional flip-flopper; I just have what maybe is sometimes a short attention span or a vividly streaming thought process. Of course I’m used to this – and my friends reluctantly are as well – but I’m still amused when this randomness spills over into the events of my social life. For what could have been a “blah” weekend, off-the-cuff suggestions came into fruition and well, fun times were had by all.

After hellish weeks, Friday night left my wife and I hopelessly and lackadaisically pondering where to head for dinner. (My apartment was devoid of food – especially when you leave out the sour milk, spoiled salami, and moldy cheeses in the fridge, but then again I suppose you can’t really count those as food anyway.) We had gone to Panera too often, sandwich places like Potbelly and Quiznos were uninspiring, Qdoba and Chipotle - gourmet fast-food Mexican places – were for once too exotic, and Noodles was too bland (plus I had already gone there for lunch). However faces were brightened with the quick suggestion, “Well I suppose we could go to the Grumpy Troll?”

For those who are not Madison locals, the Troll (as I often call it) is appropriately located in the Norwegian heritage heavy burg of Mount Horeb, about 30 minutes west of Madison. I must admit while growing up I always thought the name was funny. On family car trips through the area, I always had the fascination of changing the road signs to read “Mount Horeble.” Now, we never did actually drive through the town itself so I wasn’t being harshly judgmental about the town, just merely doing the easy adolescent word-play on the town’s name. The town indeed is actually quite nice, your typical quaint small Midwestern town. It has a cute bookstore on the corner, the bridal boutique down the street, and the small grocery / general store as well. Of course the “Nor-Vee-jun” flair as well – the Norwegian housewares and knick-knack shop as well as the Scandinavian styled roofline on the steeple of the local Lutheran church. Of course it goes without saying that there are also most likely a few businesses titled Carlson’s, Larson’s, or Olufson’s in the title.

Although while all this is specific to Mount Horeb, it does still fit into that small town pattern, The Grumpy Troll however does not. The Troll is located in the building that once housed the local creamery, now instead of milk and cheese the building produces great food and more importantly fantastic beer. The brewpub produces nearly a dozen beers at a time, ranging from stouts to lambics, IPAs to wheats, and even a wildly exotic chile pepper flavored beer. I opted to go with their uber sharp Maggie IPA but really it’s impossible to go wrong (well maybe with that chili beer but I haven’t had it so who am I to judge). No wait, you can definitely do wrong at the Troll, as the table next to us proved. Instead of ordering one of the dozen handcrafted small-batch beers, they ordered a round of Miller Lites. Seriously? How does the thought process work on that one? “Hmm, this pale-ale sounds interesting. Oh, this stout has hints of coffee, chocolate, and a nutty after-taste. Wait, hold on. They have Miller Lite bottles?! Done. That’s my drink tonight. Who needs a good microbrew when you came have mass-produced piss in a bottle?” Alright, I digress and will just finish by saying that their beer has won countless awards and well, is amazingly good.

Not only is the beer great but the food is outstanding as well. This always surprises me because I think of the Grumpy Troll as a brewpub version of Kalmes’, the restaurant I grew up with at home where the food is good, but not outstanding. The Troll though does many simple things really well. Take for example their Grump Chips which we ordered for our appetizer. These are basically just a play on homemade potato chips, but done so the chips are perfectly crisp, not oily at all, and not heavily salted. They’re just piled high and sprinkled with grated Parmesan cheese. My other favorite dish is the Chicken Enchilada Soup. Now, the soup of the day was Clam Chowder, which I almost never pass up. On this night however, I ordered the Chicken Enchilada Soup without hesitation. It’s surprising that this would be so good from what could be considered a hole-in-the-wall Wisconsin restaurant, but I could eat the stuff everyday from here on out. It’s the perfect mix of cheese, beans, chicken, and tortilla strips. I also had the Reuben, which was good, but to be honest I’ve never had one Reuben that stood out from every other one I’ve ever had. However, it was good enough to make me realize that maybe I do actually like sauerkraut. It also reminded me off my father’s liking for the Happy Joe special – a Canadian bacon and sauerkraut pizza – when we out for pizza as a family to Happy Joe’s. Hmm, maybe I’ll have to make a suggestion the next time the whole family is at my parents.

Saturday evening was much of the same enjoyable randomness but with a starting plan. A handful of us wanted to go out for drinks and dessert. Being my favorite restaurant in Madison, I suggested Brocach Irish Pub and we were on our way. However after entering the packed pub and doing so behind a mustached drunk of a redneck, we decided that Brocach wasn’t the place for the night. We walked down the street and around the corner to Tutto Pasta Cucina Italiana, a nice Italian restaurant just off the capital square. It’s only mildly expensive, so you don’t feel bad going there – I guess I probably wouldn’t make it a weekly venture though either. However, the extra price is well worth it. Once arriving we did have to wait ten minutes for an open table. I didn’t mind as it allowed me to watch the action in Tutto’s open kitchen. A curiosity sparked by reading a third of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, I watched the cooks arranging nearly a dozen pans on a stove of only four or six burners. Every bit of food was being watched, in what was wonder of multi-tasking. Not a thing was burned, everything was done perfectly.

Eventually sitting down and ordering our first round of drinks (a simply ordered a Peroni, an Italian beer), we each find out that our stomachs all need a bit more than alcohol and sweets. We all ordered what Tutto Pasta does best, simple ingredients all put together in an equally simple presentation. Again, you pay for good ingredients and good end product, not an over-elaborate presentation that dulls the food. A few salads were ordered, a pizza, and for myself, gnocchi with pesto sauce. I’ve been tempted to order the gnocchi a few times before but never ended up doing so. Well, it was delicious and definitely did not disappoint – well except for the fact that I had passed over it before. One final round of drinks – me having a soothing Italian version of an Irish coffee – and we were ready to wade through the stark cold mid-November night and eventually slide comfortably into bed with satiated souls and stomachs.

"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."
- Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

No Matter What

It snowed today. Sure not a huge stretch of the imagination considering I live in Wisconsin and it snowed 100+ inches of snow last year. Fine, whatever, but look at the date. October 27th – October twenty-FREAKING-seventh! And it snowed! Although none of the snow stuck it came as a very heeded warning. Last spring seemed to have been non-existent, summer flew by, and now fall is waning as well. Long story short, I have to stop waiting, get my ass in gear, and get out the door.

Lately the cold autumn days have been rainy or just plain gray leaving the trails mostly soft, not allowing the mountain bike see much action. However, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been doing anything. I’ve started running again. Why? I’m not quite sure except that I miss it. Just down the street is a conservation park where I can get in some trail running and of course there are some quiet neighborhood streets as well. I have coworkers that run and now I also have a girlfriend that’s doing it as well. Sunday afternoon we went for a run in the park and really had a good time in what were 20-30 mph winds. Today with the snow flying, she said to me on the phone, “No matter what I’m going for a run.” And she did. I think she’s officially caught the bug.

No matter what, I need to start biking. Every time I jump in the car and drive to work I feel guilty. I could be saving money and shedding the weight and commuting in by bike. Today’s snow isn’t helping my decision, but the goal of trying to bike to work everyday “no matter what” is really starting to steep in my brain. I’ve really wanted to start a writing project about my own bike commuting / errand running exploits and hopefully include other people in it as well. My birthday is coming up this Thursday and it seems like a good starting point. If I can run a marathon on my 21st, I can begin a year of bike commuting on my 24th.

As always the year is winding down with me getting anxious to get back outside because of lost opportunities or just plain laziness this past year. The racing / event schedule is taking shape. Focus on running in the spring, then mountain biking in the summer and fall. It should make for a fun year of new experiences. We’ll just take it one day at a time for now. Remember, it’s October and the snow is already falling.

Falling into place

Things are finally starting up again on the biking side of things. Of course, this is as the temperatures get lower and more disappointingly as the daylight gets shorter. All this is against me as I pedal a few miles – either to work, on the trails, or for back road exploration – just to make the most of the outdoor season I have left.

With that, the orange beast of a mountain bike was built up just in time for Labor Day weekend and has been ridden a good amount since. I haven’t gotten out on an epic weekend adventure yet but hopefully that will come in the next few weeks. For now, I’ve just been doing laps on a small bit of single track just down the road from work – albeit a seven mile ride from home. Although it’s just a short loop of trail, it makes up for it in diversity of obstacles and one bitch of a hill. The trail is on the backside of a rock quarry so that gives you an idea. One lap consists of the following: nice simple single track – short but steep loose rock incline – small incline – BIG ASS HILL, otherwise known as a bluff – nice peaceful clearing – downhill – curving loose dirt and rocks downhill drop-off (CRAP!! How did I not fall?!?!?!) – downhill – downhill – sharp turn with berm that I avoid because I always fall over – nice single track – short steep rocky incline – some nice single track – and back to the start. Nothing that is really that bad anymore. I just need to work on the leg strength to push the single speed up the big hills and need to find the balance for the drop-offs and bumps along the trail. I’ll be going home to my parents and to the farm so hopefully I can get some nice flowing miles under the big wheels.

As far as the bike itself, it turned out exactly how I wanted - built like a tank and simplistic. I don’t have to worry about things breaking when it bashes into things like I would on the road bike. There’s also just something to be said for a bike with only one gear. I can concentrate on the trail and don’t have to worry about shifting and being in the right gear. Yes, it can totally suck but I like the extra challenge. My other favorite part of the bike is the hydraulic disc brakes. I don’t totally understand all the bits about them yet but it’s nice to have bike parts like that so you learn about them as you ride. If I get a chance I’ll get the camera out and take a picture one of these days.

Work has also been going pretty well – so my post from two months ago is pretty much null and void. Blame it on some “lost in the moment” dramatics. Anyway, the summer rush at work seems to have died and I feel caught up for the first time in months. Today of course however I learn that I have a boatload of orders coming from Interbike, so I’ll be busy with that for the next week or two. I’m staying optimistic for now; we’ll see how it all shakes down.

It's coming...

A box full of bike parts, wheels all ready to go, and a final shipment of goodies on their way…the beast will finally come to be. For more than three years I’ve wanted to get a mountain bike. Hopefully it will have finally happened by next weekend. I’ll have many pics to share soon.

The bike is coming at a good time too. I’m in the worst shape that I’ve ever been in. That’s said so often that it’s usually not taken at face value but I mean in full-heartily. I can fee that my blood pressure is higher than ever before and I get winded at activities that were the simplest of tasks before. The new bike should be that extra push of motivation to get out and really start riding, or doing anything, again. It’ll be a new fresh start – one that I’ve needed on the bike, and for myself, for quite sometime.

We’ll see how much life lets me get out on the new bike, but just in case I’ve been very tempted to start training for next year’s Madison Marathon. I do really miss running and really enjoy it when I go out for a run every now and then. I could do it as my spring focus and then mountain biking in the summer and fall. We’ll see. It’s only August now so I shouldn’t get too far ahead of myself. Stay posted.

The Spring of Discontent - The Summer of...well...some Content

Here's an update I meant to post a month ago:

Early to bed, Early to rise...ugh, but damn I'm so tired I think I'm trying to kill myself...

Maybe it was youthful optimism to set a goal of cycling 1000 miles in the month of July. Wait, or is it youthful stupidity? I think the real answer is that I feel - wait, check, I AM - out of shape. Also ,for the second year in a row, I've had a very disappointing racing season. Bad luck with flats, wrecks, and broken wheels squashed hope for good results and a need to enjoy my senior year of college kicked in. So to recap I didn't race enough and drank too much - thus the shape I'm in. (Of course I write that while sipping a Heineken on the deck enjoying the sunset.) But I deserve it - I'm plum tuckered out!

Why so tired? Well I don't quite know. In the last two days I've only ridden 72 mi, which could easily be the total for one day. Yesterday I did 46 mi and struggled in the final miles. Today it was 26 and I had a hard time getting a rhythm - the driving west wind didn't help much either. I'm hoping the culprit is just a lack of sleep, which I'm hopin the afforementioned Heineken will help me achieve.

Whatever I'm lacking, I better get it soon. Although its already July 10th I'm still getting below 200 miles ridden for the month. That's more that 800 miles still to ride in 3 weeks. I'll need a couple of long days in there which will prepare my legs for my second goal of the month - to ride a century on the last day of RAGBRAI. I plan on starting from home, riding to the overnight town of Dyersville, and then riding back with the RAGBRAI flow to Bellevue. Depending on how I feel I may ride the extra few miles back home. I've done centuries before - the last one 2-3 years ago - so it shouldn't be too bad. Plus from Dyersville on I'll have help from the stream of cross-state riders.

Well I should probably get to bed soon. Tomorrow constists of a morning ride of at least 50 mi and then I have an afternoon of building fence. Then more riding for the rest of the week: Hill drills Thursday, and long miles on Friday and Saturday. I have excitement and dread at the same time

~~~~~

Now here's a guest commentary that wrote that will be appearing in this week's Bellevue Herald-Leader:

I think I’m too competitive.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to Dyersville?” was the question I was always asked when I explained I would be doing a revised version of the last day of RAGBRAI. My plan was to start at home, just northwest of La Motte, ride to Dyersville, and then ride to Bellevue. My goal was to ride a century, the cycling term for a ride of one hundred miles. I had done two previous centuries and thought I could handle it with my recent training regime that had me bike two hundred mile weeks, initially planned to return my legs back to racing shape. I would blame my desire to race and to do centuries on a passion for cycling, a strong need of a challenge, and a will to do something different. Most people just call me crazy.

Waking at 5 am on a Saturday morning had me thinking exactly that, “Am I crazy?” My whole body seemed to be fighting against my plans of some morning cycling. At 5:10, when I finally attempted to open my eyes, it felt like every eyelash was clinging on for dear life to keep my eyelids shut. Eventually mind won over body and I started my day quickly. Fueled with a quick bowl of cereal and some good strong Irish Breakfast Tea, I headed out the door just before 7 am.

All was quiet as I headed through La Motte, soon to be filled with thousands of cyclists who would be taking a much needed respite in the town park. I continued on through Zwingle, up the Washington Mills hill and on to Bernard. To my surprise a large contingent of early morning riders were already in attendance at the town park. Again I rode on, heading north of town and trying to pick up speed so I wasn’t left in the dust by the time I got to Dyersville. My path led me on back roads of southern Dubuque County, some of my local biking grounds. I rode just south of the New Melleray Abbey, riding west, then north through Farley, and finally west again to Dyersville. The first leg of the trip, all forty-three miles, was finished around 9:30 am. I would need to pick up speed if I wanted to finish my century under five and a half hours.

RAGBRAI and bicycle racing are completely different. Once I reached Dyersville, it was like stepping out of the cornfield and onto a certain nearby ball field. The cross-state ride features bikes that are chosen because they are comfortable, affordable, or people have on hand. They’re not high-tech racing machines built for speed. People are relaxed – taking their time, talking, and riding spaced apart. No fast speeds, pace lines, or packs that are four abreast in one lane of traffic requiring the riders to brush shoulders with each other – without falling mind you. The relaxed atmosphere of the ride took some getting used to.

My refuel of liquids in Cascade was a first taste of the real point of RAGBRAI. I happened to stumble upon a local couple whom I know who had been riding their first big cycling event. We had a quick conversation, the normal biking tour chat that focuses on hills, weather, fatigue, and most importantly how one’s posterior is holding up. Once you stuff yourself into form-fitting spandex shorts no topic is too far. We eventually went our separate ways; they to find the rest of their group and I to head further down the road.

I must admit that even though I had a few chats in Cascade, I still wasn’t grasped by the Iowan ideal of overwhelming friendliness. Once the route reached Bernard I was on my home training roads and my competitive streak again took over. I had to be the first over every hill. I had to be the passer, not the one being passed. At the crossing on Highway 61, where the Highway Patrol was escorting riders across, I felt I had to out sprint another rider who took off in front of me. This momentum carried me quickly to La Motte.

Like Cascade, a refuel in La Motte threw me back into the RAGBRAI spirit. I must admit it was awesome seeing thousands of cyclists in my hometown when it’s typically just lonely me. It was very clearly my hometown when, while waiting for water and Gatorade, I was recognized as “a Schroeder kid” and was then subsequently confused for my brother, which has happened my whole life. Being now officially acknowledged as a local, I felt it my duty to enter myself into strangers’ conversations to tell them how the route was the rest of the way. Every tired face brightened as they learned the worst hills were behind them. However some would suffer worse challenges the hills.

On a two mile stretch of road between La Motte and Cottonville, two riders went down as I was riding. The first was being loaded into an ambulance as I arrived. It’s always disheartening to see a road stained with blood and a fellow rider being rushed to the hospital. That feeling was exemplified by the fact that I ride that stretch of road nearly every day. I pushed the feelings of fear and worry out of my mind by getting back into my normal cycling rhythm, which was now starting to fade at mile eighty-four. However my rhythm would not last long.

Barely two miles down the road, a second rider had gone down. At first I regretfully rode on by but quickly turned around when I heard the question, “Does anyone know where we are?” “If it helps, I’m from here,” I said as I arrived. I was quickly given a cell phone to tell the dispatchers our exact location and eventually became the official phone correspondent. The fallen rider, who I learned was Dorothy of Jacksonville, Florida, initially laid on the road motionless for at least three minutes with every breath a resounding hoarse gurgle. Eventually she regained consciousness, was able to talk, and even eventually sit up. I could selfishly say she started to recover because of my volunteered bottle of Gatorade but it was because of the great group of riders that came to her rescue. In all we had three first responders, a physician, the woman riding behind Dorothy, and myself “the local.” It was also a great performance by the La Motte and RAGBRAI paramedic teams who arrived quickly and did a great job, especially considering they had two incidents within fifteen minutes.

Before I go any further I must apologize to a fellow cyclist-come-rescuer, the woman who handed me the phone. Although we were the last two riders to leave the scene and introduced ourselves to each other, I quickly forgot your name. I was so focused on Dorothy’s care that all I was thinking at the time, and for the rest of the day, was “Dorothy of Jacksonville.” I could have been asked who won last year’s Tour de France and would have responded with “Dorothy of Jacksonville” even though I can recite every Tour de France winner since the mid-eighties.

Following the rescue, my ride took a more relaxed pace. I stopped in Cottonville and chatted with high school friend and his father, neither of whom I had seen since graduation now four years ago. Further down Bellevue-Cascade Road, I used every ounce of conviction to fend off stopping at a root beer float stand. “After you’re finished,” I said to myself. I fought off the dreamy soda ice cream concoction proudly...but then stopped for a frozen smoothie a mile down the road. On the brink of brain freeze, I slurped down the strawberry banana drink quickly and got back on the road.

A very quick five miles later I was in Bellevue. To my surprise however, my wheels crossed the railroad tracks with the bike computer only registering ninety-nine miles. A leisurely ride through town to meet my family easily fulfilled my century goal.

All of my RAGBRAI rides have been commemorated with an official ride t-shirt. It is a bit misleading to purchase a shirt with the week’s route printed on the back even though you only rode one day. I’ll admit that. But this day’s ride was different. I was proud of accomplishing another century, but what I really wanted to remember were the non-cycling events of the day – the chats, the food, being a local, and being a rescuer. I didn’t think of it at the time but my chosen shirt perfectly represents, even says, what I learned what RAGBRAI is about. The ride isn’t about riding five hundred miles across Iowa, or accomplishing any other cycling feat for that matter. The ride is about community – the cyclists, the support crews, and the towns they roll through. If I ever forget, my shirt will be a reminder – “Is this France? No, this is Iowa!”

~~~~~

And now for a quick update:

The 1000 miles just isn't going to happen. A quick look at the calendar shows that it's already July 31st and a quick look at my cycling log shows I've only ridden 747.4 miles in July. I'm not about to go for a 252.6 miler today, probably something 50 mi or shorter. Starting last week my upper calf muscle has been tight and sore. Not sure what's causing it. Usually it works itself out on the bike - except for a few times during the century when it was a strong stinging pain. I should probably take a few days off, but I've been able to do more than one because I go crazy if I don't ride. We'll see. I keep pondering the idea of doing the Iowa State RR this weekend more or less for something to do. However I'm not sure if I'm in race shape yet and don't know if I want to waste time, money, and effort to race if I'm not.

Well this has been my longest post ever. Thanks for reading through it all!