Paying Off!

As you all know, I decided to hire a trainer about 3 months ago (Ashley Powell - www.catup.com - he's f-ing awesome). Several factors went into this decision:

1) I wanted to rehab my knee the right way

2) I wanted to keep my cycling future injury free

3) I felt like I had some natural aptitude on the bike, and wanted some guidance to tap into it safely (see one and two).

When I started out, the goal was to just get back on the bike and rebuild up my endurance. The rides were short compared to pre-injury length, and went by time instead of distance, a new concept for me. After a few weeks of nothing but endurance, we went on a ride that established my training zones.

Again, a heartrate monitor was a completely new ball game for me. I felt like a leashed dog, constantly yanked up short right when I wanted to chase, and I saw my average speeds come plummeting down from where I was used to seeing them.

Next step were tempo rides, first with 20 minute, then with 30 minute intervals that put my HR into Zone 3. These were hard, finally, or at least harder than usual. I could stretch out and go. The longest was 3x30 (number of intervals x time of interval) with 10 minutes of rest between intervals. I called Ashley after that week and told him how well it had gone. I felt pleased with myself.

His response? "Ok, now we can really get going."

Cue AT interval initiation.

He explained that these intervals were meant to condition my body to get used to being just slightly anaerobic for longer periods of time. Not hard enough to go "full gas," but almost that hard. Hard enough that my muscles burned juuuust slightly, but not enough to completely wipe them out. For an analogy, I was to imagine a sink with the water running fast enough to pool a little at the bottom before going down the drain, but not fast enough to overflow entirely and spill over the edges. I was also to down a can of soda immediately following the final interval. "Carry it with you in your jersey and crack it open right after you're done. Literally."

The zone? 167-173.

"In two months," Ashley said, "you're going to be a completely different cyclist."

I started the intervals with 4x10s, with 10 minutes of rest in between. And it was tough. I remember going home after the first workout completely wiped out. But AT intervals I did, twice that week.

I did two weeks of 4X10. Then it went up to 5x10. Then 5X12. Then 6x10.

Each week I became a bit more apprehensive of the intervals. Why? Because each week they became slightly harder to do. One time I couldn't get my HR up to the required zone, no matter how hard I tried, and I returned to the car put down, drained, and pissed.

At the same time, though, my average speed for the endurance rides slowly started to creep up. 16.5, 16.8, and then I was regularly getting into the low 17s. The low 17s and never leaving the endurance HR zone.

When it came to the 6x10s, it was raining out, and I was required to borrow a friend's trainer to get the job done. Each time I had to ramp up the intensity, I had a small doubt that this time I wouldn't be able to do it. I was too worn out, too tired. Then once it was up, it was nothing but concentration to keep it there. I still wasn't going "full gas," but if my mind slipped for a second or my cadence went down, that was it. HR went below the 167 line.

Then I got sick. My body said, "ENOUGH!" and caught a cold in a crowded movie theater.

Fortunately, this happened during a scheduled rest week.

In any training, the rest week is the magical week during which you actually get stronger. The training weeks? That's designed to wear you down, not build you up. When you rest, your body springs back from the brink you placed it upon, remaking your muscles and revamping your cardio system to handle the craziness you obviously insist on placing upon it.

Or at least that's the theory.

Last week, I came back for more intervals. Harder intervals. 2x20 intervals with 15 rest between.

I started out in dread, remembering the constant effort of a few weeks ago, and imagining trying to stretch that effort into 20 minute efforts.

Then I started.

And I thought my HR monitor on the new Garmin was busted. Why? Because it was so much easier to establish, and then maintain, my HR. Easy enough that I could actually think about other things for seconds at a time, easy enough that I didn't have to look down every two seconds just to make sure it wasn't slipping.

I rode with two Garmins (new and old) the next day, and sure enough, both were reading the exact same numbers.

This week, I was presented with two challenges. The first, a 2x25 AT interval workout, the second, a new HR zone: 170-175.

Yesterday, I climbed aboard the trainer and started pedaling, with the intention of giving the new HR zone a shot, but not being disappointed if I couldn't do it.

But I could. And without any extra effort. 173/174, no problem. 25 minutes? I honestly felt like I could have done 30.

Which is good, because next week, I may have to do 30.

So what does all of this mean?

It means that, Hallelujah! Training works! It's actually paying off! I am, as promised, a new cyclist! It means that the HR monitor no longer a leash, but a friend to help me along the way. It means that on group rides, I can watch the main group pull away with no blow to my ego, since I trust my training schedule and know that saving energy one day means I have that much more energy to go where I need it.

That being said, I shall close with a small anecdote:

Tuesday, I headed out for the Farmer's Market social ride at 11am. It's a ride that's supposed to average 16/17, but usually, there's a guy (you know..."that" guy) who insists on pushing the pace slightly. So this time, it was more like 18-ish. At times during the ride, I saw him get down in the drops, head to the front, and up the pace for no real reason. I didn't join in. I saw him hammer up hills and take much of the group with him. I didn't join in.

On the way home, I found myself directly behind him. About a mile from home, he decided to turn on the afterburners and sprint, hoping to drop us all and ride in triumphant.

Not a chance.

I jumped up out of the saddle, shifted into high gear, and chased.

I sprinted at 31.6 miles an hour, according to the Garmin. A solo sprint speed that, three months ago, would have been impossible.

Sure, my HR spiked up to 168.

But it was totally worth it.

A Very Strange Paintbrush Indeed

Before you read this post, there is a bit of homework involved.

Cut and paste the link below. Watch the whole thing. If you're pressed for time, at least watch the first three minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj6ho1-G6tw

Finished? Good.

I saw this link via a friend's facebook page this morning. I watched it in awe, of course. I ogled at the tricks, the control, the precision. Obviously, this Danny MacAskill character has some skills.

Later today at work, I brought it up on the big screen out front so some mountain bike customers could watch it. Usually when you are at a bike store and you play a video on youtube, the response is lukewarm. But this time, everyone was silent. Riveted. The only sound was an occasional "wow." The handling of the bike was nothing less than masterful.

Again tonight at home, I pulled it up and went through it. And this time, finally, I saw it for what it was:

Art.

Here is a person who is using the bicycle as his medium and his surroundings as the canvas. Each sequence of movements is a paint stroke, or a sentence; a conversation with the bench, or the monument, or the fence, or whatever else he happens to be in the space. There is a constant interaction. He isn't limited by what surrounds him in any way, quite the opposite: he's inspired by it.

Show me an artist who doesn't have the same types of interactions, conversations, or inspirations when crafting their work. What artist doesn't invoke an image or a thought, what author doesn't pull from life, what musician doesn't try to capture the feeling of an object?

Which is yet another reason why I love this damn sport.

Of course, a bicycle is an odd type of paintbrush. And of course, not everyone who rides a bike is an artist, just like not everyone who draws a picture is an artist. But trials riding isn't done for the purpose of physical exertion. You aren't going to be racing, or doing intervals. And while you may compete, the competition is to see who can create the most exciting composition, not to see who is mightier. It's to see who can become the most cohesive part of the bicycle, who can internalize it the most seamlessly. What other sport, honestly, can have the same niche that trials fills? The same improvisational, skillful, and yes, beautiful relationship between person and equipment and place?

Exactly.

And let's face it. Who wouldn't want to be able to do that, have that sort of complete and automatic internalized skill, that it happens seemingly without thought; an instinctual comfort with the bike?

The good thing about bikes, though, is that if you ride them enough, if you practice enough, you can be functionally comfortable and natural on them. Not an artist, but at least an amateur, able to glide around a trail or remove your arm warmers in the middle of the hammerfest or track stand at the stoplight. Everyone can get on and spin in circles and move from point A to point B. I am living proof of that. Not everyone can sit on their top tube and touch the ground while cruising down the road at 17 mph. It is this distinction that separates someone who bike rides and someone who rides with their bikes.

It is the "with" that is special, that can elevate sport to art.

Think I'm full of it?

Go watch the clip again.

Now try to say the same thing.

Rules

This week is the first "optional" week in my training. Easy way to sum it up: everything is optional. To a point. My rides are kept in order through the following rules:

1) You are only allowed to ride for fun. If you don't feel like riding, don't ride.

2) You are only allowed to not ride for 3 days. Then you have to ride.

3) You are not allowed to do anything that is "training." No efforts, no times intervals, nada.

4) You should ride for one less day than you normally ride.

Being a rule follower extraordinaire, this week has been the most confusing for me. One of the best things about having a coach is that I don't HAVE to think about where I will ride, for how long I will ride, and what I will be doing on my rides. The only real rule is"follow the program." That I can do.

But when the rule is to "have fun"? That's a little too grey for my black/white self.

As difficult as these rules are to follow, though, they are perhaps the most important ones to think about.

First off, I'm sick, which complicates things because there really isn't ANYTHING that's fun to do when you're sick except lay on the couch watching Hulu and reading books whilst sipping tea.

Second off, I've had to think about what IS fun when I ride. What makes cycling fun? For me?

Third off, there is no third off, but lists sound better in trios than pairs.

Riding with friends would definitely be the top on the list. Not so much a large groups ride, but a small group of people that you would also invite out to a movie. There is something about riding with people you know and trust, people with whom you can cruise down a flat road one minute, and then chit chat about life the next. A group who will not see a hill and automatically also see an invitation to hammer. A wheel you feel confident sucking onto.

The next fun thing on the bike is being epic. This encompasses many different types of rides, for sure, but a good example would be a large organized ride with sag stations, in which the ride's purpose centers around epic-ness. At the end of this ride, you have energy to do nothing else but stagger from your bike and start eating whatever is in site and is edible. Following this, you get a massage. You talk to your fellow riders about average speeds and what beasts you all are, and then you go home and fall onto the couch in a coma.

The next fun thing on the bike is exploring new roads, especially when it's as gorgeous out as it is now. The best time for road exploration is mid-day, when traffic is low and the sun is high. Bring lots of water, and be prepared to get lost. (Note: also bring your cell phone).

The next fun thing on the bike, for me, and this sounds lame but please remember I am somewhat of a Hermione type (yes, that's a harry potter reference), but the next fun thing on the bike is training. I like to train. I like to follow the plan, do the intervals, accomplish the checklist, because I know it all goes towards the larger goal of becoming a better rider. To that end, the endurance rides, the ones where I slog along the same route in the morning before work, those are actually at least a little joyous. I go home, I plug in my Garmin and dump it, and voila! Evidence of dedication to my training plan. That is fun.

Fun is different for everyone, of course. A lot of the things that other people would jump at the chance to do, like mountain biking, I steer away from due to the anxiety it currently produces. Some people find the idea of training an antithesis to cycling enjoyment. Some people crave hills and climbs. Some people are loners, and love the solitude of the open road.

So while this week has been minimal in terms of physical stress, it has given my mental aptitude a run for my money. I think being sick has messed up my overall impression of what the week can really be like, since my nose feels like raw meat and my legs are clearly not getting all of the rebuilding attention they deserve from my rebuilding resources. In the weeks ahead, though, as I am back to "training," I'm going to do some serious thinking/prep work for my next option week.

Because I am going to have fun, damnit. I am going to play by the rules.

WHOA HORSE!

Today, I awoke rarin' to go for my second cyclocross race.

Tonight, I sit here with the decision to give myself a year on the bike before I race cyclocross again.

I know, right? Huge jump. There are all sort of well meaning stock responses to a decision like this:

a) You'll be fine, just go for it!

b) The only way to get better is to do it!

c) It's not that bad, if you fall it's not like you'll get hurt!

d) You're just nervous, once you start the race it will be fun!

The thing is, it's not really cyclocross I'm afraid of. I mean, I know that it's grass and dirt, and that I won't be going that fast. I saw the women lining up for my race today, the race that I decided to pull out of because the course made me too nervous, and they were all fine. Nobody died. And while there were riders there who were miles better than me and more experienced on mountain bikes/bikes in general, there were some who were not.

So what was the difference?

They saw the course, and maybe felt nervous, but said, "Heck, looks tough, but I'll give it a go."

I saw the course, and then felt a rising panic of being forced into doing something that I was nervous about, and then felt exactly like I did when I was twelve and was forced to ride my horse, Shiloh, through his manic bucking bolting sprees.

Did I lose you?

It's the same sort of stuff that takes place when adults are scared about public speaking. It's not the event that causes panic; it's the relation that event has to the first time they ever felt that panic. Make sense? The body takes over; they can't control how their body reacts. Even if their mind says, "This is silly, you're an adult, nothing bad is going to happen if you step out on that stage," their body is all of a sudden zinged back to day one.

So what did this Shiloh character do that was really that bad?

Oh goodness...

Imagine the feeling of having a 2000 pound animal underneath you, tensing up and ready to blow, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. That was me. I just had to hold on and hope he would eventually stop on his own accord, or bail if he was pointed towards something dangerous. It got to the point where I rode with a paper bag, because I would hyperventilate after it happened. Still, I was not allowed to dismount, leave the lesson, or stop riding the horse. My (awful) trainer also did nothing to prevent the problem or try to fix it. I still had to ride him three times a week, and show him as well. I just had to, "deal." It was either ride Shiloh, or not ride.

Amazingly, and I cannot say how amazed I am, I wasn't ever seriously hurt, though he did force my sister out of riding after severely injuring her hip doing the same thing (guess who got the hand me down horse?).

Throughout my riding career, I've always known that I had issues with ill behaved steeds on account of Shiloh. My skills were at a professional level, it wasn't that I couldn't ride, I just froze and tensed up when faced with a horse who habitually spun, or bucked, or bolted. This time I had no choice because it was part of the job, and I did ride through all of it and came out alive. I dealt. I also got ulcers. This reality was another part of why I ultimately decided not to be a professional anymore. I wanted to have the option to not ride for any reason, and let that reason be enough.

And now back to cyclocross. (phew!) Cyclocross was supposed to be a fun way to increase my bike skills. I have been riding bikes for all of six months. I am not a natural on the bike. I mean, go back and re read my first attempt at using clipless pedals. Go back and read about my first ever group ride, where I had my heart in my throat the entire time and fell down about four times.

Please, people. Please.

What I did do, though, was take it slowly. At my own pace. I had a wonderful, supportive group of people who were willing to go out and cycle easy with me, showing me the ropes. I gradually increased my rides. I gradually gained confidence. In short, I was allowed to stop riding Shiloh, and get on a nice quiet pony instead. In the end, there was no Shiloh at all. Just a bike ride.

I did not leap into a criterium hoping that criterium racing would make be a better cyclist.

No. Cyclocross is not criterium racing. But neither is it the only way to gain bike skills. What I've learned about myself today is that while I love the idea of jumping in head first, I really do not do very well when jumping in head first. My thinking brain says, Yay! My emotion brain says, WOAH HORSE!

There are slower, more gradual ways of gaining bike skills.

I have a mountain bike. I have a group of wonderful, supportive friends who will no doubt ride with me, slowly. I have a wonderful resource of beginner trails with which to practice on. And I'm sure that as I gain confidence, I will discover, again, that there is no Shiloh.

Just a silly cyclocross course.

Until then, though, I choose to say, No Thanks.

Sure, one could see all of this as an elaborate excuse. Then again, who am I making excuses to? My friends? Myself? It's not as if I'm saying the dog ate it, or I can't, I'm washing my hair. Cyclocross was supposed to be fun. It's not fun. Not yet. So instead of being hard on myself, I'm trying to understand where the reaction is coming from, and then acknowledge the reaction as valid, and then cut myself some slack.

Because I am NOT going to start carrying around a paper bag with me when I ride my bike.

Who let the dogs out?

Dangers lurk in every sporting arena. Athletes are punched, kicked, tackled, and run into by their opponents in some venues. Skiers crash at breathtaking speeds. Gymnasts leap into the air and flip on beams four inches wide. Tennis players wrench their knees this way and that with massive amounts of torque. Even golfers have errant balls to contend with, and watch out for those cleats.

Usually, though, these dangers are actually a part of the sport itself, and in some cases, part of the appeal. In football, you expect to be tackled, just like in gymnastics you expect to possibly land on your head while learning how to tumble. This adds excitement and adrenaline to the mix.

Cyclists have their own brand of adrenaline inducing incidents to deal with while riding their bikes. Cars, of course, are one such example. Potholes, railroad tracks, and rough roads are another.

And then, there are dogs.

Oh...are there dogs.

Yesterday whilst riding my bike on a lovely two hour ride through the gorgeous fall scenery, I encountered dog after dog. I have no clue why. Maybe it was the time of day, the late afternoon, that brought them out. Maybe it was my choice of roads. Maybe my bike smelled like snausages. Maybe it was just bad luck.

For the most part I was able to avoid them using the normal tactics. Outrun them. Yell, "NO!" if they get too close. I've yet to squirt a dog with my water bottle, though this of course often works wonders.

Finally, I turned onto NC-65, a road oft travelled with pleasure. Flat, well paved, and amazing eye candy to enjoy. As I rounded one particular corner, I saw a man in his front yard surrounded by dogs. One of them made to go, but he told them to stop. Finally! A nice, thoughtful man, keeping both myself and his dogs out of harms way. I smiled, slowed, and raised my arm, shouting, "Thank you!"

That's when the dogs actually attacked, after a cue from their master. He hadn't been holding them back to prevent them from running after me; he had been waiting for me to get closer.

So here I am, sprinting, seven hounds barking and snarling at my heels, some of them getting around the front of my bike, forcing me into the other lane (thank God there wasn't any oncoming traffic), and eventually even forcing me to stop. They started to circle me, so the ol' keep your bike between you and the dog trick was a no go. And the owner? He was watching it all, silently, hands in his pockets. I looked at him. He slowly started to turn and go into the house.

I'm sorry. If you are a minor, do not read the next sentence. But if ever there was a red neck motherfucker, this was it.

Fortunately, none of the dogs attacked. I dismounted and walked away, with them still barking but starting to turn back. My heartrate was definitely not in the coach mandated "endurance" zone. It was in the scared out of my gourd zone, and entering the mamothley pissed off zone.

I had two choices, one of which was smart, one of which was wildly stupid.

Guess which one I chose?

I turned off my Garmin (I mean, come on, have to preserve that average speed), turned around, and walked back to the house. The dogs once again started going crazy. I bared my teeth and shouted, "NO! BAD DOG! BACK!" It worked. They still barked, but retreated. Even as I marched up the driveway, I could feel them at my heels, but I knew they wouldn't actually mess with me. I leaned my bike against the car, took off my sunglasses, and went up to the glass side door.

There he was, sitting in an armchair, not looking at me.

I knocked.

He ignored me.

I knocked again.

His wife came to the door.

I explained to her that the dogs ran after me and he did nothing to stop them. I explained that I could have been severely hurt, not to mention the dog would have been toast had I hit it at 20 mph.

Her response?

"Well darlin', of course they're gonna chase you if you yell at them."

....................

To that, I replied if they could please post a sign saying, "Do Not Yell At the Dogs," the only counter I could come up with, explaining that yelling is one of the only tactics cyclists have if, as in this case, the dogs start to run out into the path of the bike or force the rider to dismount.

She saw me on my way, this time yelling at her dogs NOT to chase after me. They listened.

Interesting, isn't it, that the dogs obviously wouldn't run after me if the owner did in fact tell them to stop? Where was the husband's voice, while I was frantically yelling, "No! No!" and being literally chased down like an animal?

Of course, all I could do was ride away, completely at a loss as to why, because I choose to ride a bike, I become a symbol of liberalism, anti-Americanism, elitism, or any of the other -isms that cause such reactions from some rural residents. Enough rage to sic dogs on me.

I am not going to hold my breath for any "Do Not Yell at the Dogs" sign.

The worst part? Cyclists are expected to simply deal with this. As told to me by my local state representative, cyclists and their concerns are not even a blip on anyone's radar screen. And really, what can anyone do? Leash laws? In the rural south?

Excuse me, I just laughed so hard my dinner came out my nose and onto the keyboard.

Google in "cyclists and dogs" into a google search, and you get 789,000 hits. Type in "Dog bites cyclist," and you get 916,000 hits. Just like getting buzzed and run over by cars, dogs are just another live-with-it part of this sport.

Which of course begs the question. Why cycle? I mean, are those 110 minutes of freedom worth the ten minutes of terror?

Was Cujo a horrible horror film made in 1983, the heyday or horrible horror films?

::takes a bow::

Next time I go out past that house, as I must since NC-65 is a pretty major connecting road, I will take with me a canister of pepper spray.

And I will employ every ounce of willpower not to use it on the owner.

Latest Bicyling Magazine, Page 34....really?

Ladies and gentleman. Above is a photo of singer/songwriter Tristan Prettyman (I know, me too...tristan who?). This is a photograph that was featured in the latest issue of Bicycling Magazine. Apparently, she is on a crusade to make San Diego a more "bike friendly" community. When, of course, she's not endangering the rest of the bicycling community and herself.

I won't go into details, but the interview contains the following gems:

"My friends often do a 25 mile loop up the coast to grab a beer, so I often join them."

Yes, riding 12 miles, dehydrating yourself, then downing beer for the ride home sounds like a fantastic idea.

"My last ride was sixteen miles to the beach with my friend Tricia...when I got home my tire was flat."

So, basically, you were riding on the rim without even knowing it? For how long was that occurring?

But readers, choosing a "celeb rider" with a lack of basic roadside skills/preparedness was not the most blatant error Bicycling Magazine made. Truthfully, this sort of thing can probably happen to many people if the tire just had a small hole or the air was leaking slowly. Nor was choosing a "celeb rider" who admittedly mixes alcohol and road cycling, though I'm sure some of you readers probably don't think that's such a horrible proposition, either.

No, ladies and gentleman. The cardinal sin of Bicycling magazine was to show a picture of Tristan Prettyman, clutching at an ill fitting messenger bag while fully turning around and not looking where she's headed...

...without a f-ing helmet.

.......

Cycling without a helmet is as stupid as driving without a seatbelt, which is as stupid as picking up a red hot skillet without a pot holder. It's such an easy, basic, simple step to protecting your own life, and the lives of those who care about you. Sure, you can say to yourself, "It's my head, damnit!" But what about all of the people you will leave in the lurch should the unspeakable happen and you become brain damaged, or die? And for what? For the sake of "looking cool?"

Please people. wtf.

I myself have already suffered a concussion, one that started when my head hit a rock after falling off my horse and ended with being led back to the office by my coworker after she found me wandering aimlessly around the barn not sure of where I was and with no memory of what happened. She found my horse sans Sophie and became worried. I still don't remember the specifics, but I do know that had I been sans helmet, I would have been dead.

I'm preaching to the choir here, as you all DO wear helmets hopefully every time you get on the bike (just like you hopefully buckle your damn seatbelts every time you get in the car).

But.

This is Bicyling Magazine. This is the magazine for the masses. This is the magazine where the general population gets its idea of what is and what is not appropriate for cycling. This is the magazine that people take into bike shops saying "I just read this review about this bike..." This is the magazine that is, for lack of a better term, our public persona.

And what message does the public get when Tristan Prettyman gets a full blown up picture of her likeness cooly cruising, her hair gorgeously tousled by the wind as she flies backasswards down the road without a helmet?

That was a rhetorical question, btw.

Letter writing campaign, people. I think that every local cycling club needs to draft a letter in a similar vein of WTFness, and send it off ASAP to Bicycling Magazine.

Tristan Prettyman is in danger of becoming brain damaged.

If the above photograph doesn't prove she already is.

Houses of Cycling Worship

Cycling, as with most sports, revels in the glory of the outdoors. Whether the agenda is a grueling training ride or a group outing with your peeps, it's hard not to at one point or another say to yourself, "wow, it is a gorgeous day," or see some beautiful roadside vista that for an instant blocks out the thought of your heart rate/power reading. For me, there are several tin barns that never fail to draw a lingering eye. One is a bright fire engine red specimen out on Iron Works Road, the other is a multicolored hodge podge on Miller Chapel. In short, the joy of the bike shares the stage with the awesomeness of being outside and experiencing the world.

So what happens, you may ask, when the outdoors doesn't cooperate? When it's raining, or snowing, or the daylight goes too fast, or the temperatures drop below tolerable levels? What is a cyclist to do?

....what indeed...

Runners have their treadmills. Runnishers have their ellipticals. People who want to be cyclists but really aren't have their recumbent machines.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you for your enjoyment and/or horror,

the trainer.

"What's so awful?" you may ask. "This looks perfectly innocent to me, perfectly harmless. Why such potent feelings one way or the other?"

Because when all is said and done, when it really comes down to it, cycling is nothing more than spinning your legs in circles. Endless circles. Around and around and around in circles. More circles than one sane person could count, and that's on a short ride. And spinning your legs in circles is boring. Very very boring.

What's worse, even the very best trainers can't replicate the feeling of the road underneath you, the feeling of generating power to go FORWARD in the world, to go FAST, or to at least GO. On the trainer, you pedal in circles and go noplace fast. A lower end magnetic trainer is like pedaling through mud, the very best fluid trainer barely grudges past feeling like wet sand. Some of them let you rock your bike back and forth (yippee), others set up computer screens with "simulated" hills, descents, and group rides (please, give me another simulated hill, that sounds like exactly what's been missing from my life). The alternative, rollers, give a much more realistic feel, but also force you to pay strict attention every second, lest your mind wanders and you find yourself suddenly rolling off the rollers and into (or through) your living room wall.

Yes, in the wintertime, we cyclists retreat to our personal torture chambers and make as much peace as we can with our trainers, maintaining base miles and sometimes, as in my case, actually trying to improve fitness as we go.

"But surely you're not made of salt or sugar, dear writer. Why don't you just go out and ride in the cold/rain/dark/snow if trainers are so horrible?"

Well, it's true that when I ran, I would brave just about any weather condition before being forced onto the treadmill. One only has to read my post about runners being gross to know that I am not one to shy away from rain or cold weather. But running isn't like cycling. In cycling, you have to remember that when it rains, your traction suffers. When it's dark, cars can't see you. When it snows, salt and other road crud makes things slick and mucks up your bike. Plus, with cold winds and 16-18mph speeds, well.....let's just say the term "frozen boogers" takes on a whole new meaning. In short, I can handle the elements; my bike or my safety may not be so adept.

Today was my litmus test on the trainer, so to speak, in that it was my hardest workout to date: 5 ten minute AT intervals with 10 minutes of rest inbetween. And the thunderstorm shaking my window when I awoke at 6am meant one thing: I would have to do it entirely on a trainer.

Fortunately, the bike shop where I work has a fantastic trainer set up in the fit area that's much better than the one I use for base/endurance miles at home. It's still a trainer, but the fluid resistance stays smoother once your cadence is established. Armed with water bottles, a towel (there's no wind to instantly dry off the sweat), and my iPod, I climbed aboard and got to work.

The result? I did it. I did the entire workout, exactly as it should have been, on the trainer. And know what? It wasn't that bad. Honestly. I mean, it was 2 hours on the trainer, so it wasn't amazing. But being on the trainer and not on the road let me completely focus on the act of pedaling in circles. On the one hand, its boring On the other hand, it's the very zen core of cycling. It's the foundation without any of the distraction. It's just you and the bike and the motion of moving your legs. Once I revved up to the correct heart rate, I closed my eyes, hunkered down, and PEDALED, only taking passing glances at my heart rate, which stayed just as consistent as during my road rides. As I finished my fifth interval and popped open my Cheerwine, I felt a little like I was coming out of a meditative state, which is something I've never experienced on the road, or on the treadmill, or on the elliptical. Maybe I'm still riding on a road, only this time, it's a metaphysical one.

The great outdoors is the church of cycling, but maybe the trainer is the buddhist temple.