#Injinji Toe Socks & Freak Toes

Toe Socks Take Some Coaxing With Freak Toes

“Get the camera.  Quick!”  Close to tears, my wife and I were laughing like kids who secretly stuck a price tag on mom’s butt at the grocery store.  I was putting Injinji Lightweight Mini Crew toe socks on my crooked toe feet for the first time.  Lesson #1: as you can see in the picture, toe socks take a little work, more if genetics prevented your toes from growing perfectly parallel to your feet.  Putting on toe socks is not as American fast food quick as slipping on regular socks.  It’s more like putting on a dozen pair of socks, one on each foot, one on each toe.  While they slowed down my time getting out the door, they refreshingly kept my piggies from fighting each other in my Pearl Izumi Peak II running shoes.

Click Here To Visit Injinji.com

Scott at the PR firm that handles Injinji Performance Toe Socks had his reservations.  He intrigued me by writing, “We also just started working with Injinji socks.  While toe socks might not be top of mind for cycling, they may have some crossover benefits for cyclocross.”  I looked down at my freaky feet and raised an eyebrow.  This guy has no idea how weird my feet are.  But I thought, if toe socks keep ‘em separated, they could be perfect for cyclists with less than perfect piggies that rub and bite each other.  I can’t think of another sport that requires wearing the same shoes for 4, 5, 6 hours at a time.  So rather than risk the perils of new footwear on a century ride, I decided to test them with running shoes first, a 4-miler through the hills out Cincinnati’s Mt. Lookout neighborhood.  My Offspring hypothesis that “you gotta keep ‘em separated” was correct.

If you look at my feet, (go ahead, swallow back that puke and take a quick peek), my little toe and ring toe, the Cashews, like to hide behind their neighbors.  My index toe is ghastly skinny and hammer cocked to the outside like Amy Winehouse before rehab.  My big toe was obviously transplanted from Fred Flintstone’s foot.  While I thankfully inherited my mother’s drive for exercise and health, the trade off was my father’s bent toes.  So, when I looked at the toe sock, with its perfect little symmetrical toes, I shook my head thinking this is going to be as comical as trying to fit in my wife’s sweatshirt.  It took a minute or two, but I managed to work every toe into his little sock.    

My Freak Toes Almost Look Normal in Toe Socks

Sure wearing gloves on your feet feels weird at first, but after a block or two in the shoes I felt myself saying, “These feel pretty good.”  2 ½ miles in, I had forgotten I was wearing toe socks.  I realized my toes weren’t sweat sticking to their neighbors.  The nail of one toe couldn’t bite his brother.  Whether perceived or actual, my feet felt noticeably cooler, maybe akin to gloves being less warm than mittens.  The toe box of my shoes felt noticeably more soft and smooth as if there was less rubbing between the shoe and toes.  I’ll reserve cycling judgment for another time, but given my first experiment, I’ll likely choose the toe socks next time I go out for a summer run, hike or walk.

Soigneur For Hire

Excerpt From CyclingNews.com

Ka-rack!  Lightning struck the high rise condo building which looms over our backyard along the Ohio River.  While I was sort of disappointed my wish didn’t come true and Thor once again missed the ugly dead tree in our neighbor’s overgrown yard, I was happy to be taking care of domestics.  I’m my own soigneur. 

Domestics is a term coined by a former teammate, a civil way of saying, “I’ve named the dust bunnies in my living room.”  He used it as a reason he couldn’t ride, but think he had it sort of backwards.  I save the domestics for when I can’t ride, like last night.  That’s what cyclists do when it rains.  In a sport that more or less depends on fair weather to enjoy, there’s a reason to smile when it rains.  While it may be close to crawling away on its own, the VW Beetle sized pile of dirty clothes at the foot of your bed isn’t going to wash itself.

I wrangled the recyclables and cleaned the cat boxes.  It was 5:45pm.  With black clouds creeping closer, raindrops tapped on the windows.  Normally on a Tuesday, I’d be filling water bottles and searching for the ever elusive taillight.  Like a bad friend cancelling a date, the rain waits to fall 30 minutes before the group ride starts.  At least I saw it coming on radar.  I had an hour or more to kill before there’d even be a chance to clip in.

Click Here to see more sweet Trail Runners from Pearl Izumi

As the Channel 9 meteorologists advised people in the northern suburbs to take their “tornado safe place” over footage of flood water pouring down Eden Park’s public steps, I man-sorted jeans & t-shirts, whites and delicates into three relatively separate piles.  I found my long lost Smithwick socks under the bed.  Back upstairs, I emptied the dishwasher.  Looking back at the TV and using my superior storm tracking cycling senses, I saw a break between storms and deduced I had about a 40 minute window.  Not long enough for a ride, so I stuffed a load in the washer and tied the laces on my Pearl Izumi Peak II’s.  By the time I'd come back from back from my run, it'd be perfect timing to get the load in the dryer.  On the way out for a flat 5k, I wheeled the recycling to the curb.  While I’ll never go pro, I’d have a solid career as a pro cycling team soigneur.

Douchey By Association

You’re only as cool as the biggest douche on your team.  I ride for a shop team, BioWheels-Reece/Campbell Racing.  If one of my teammates were to run a stoplight, I run a stoplight.  If one the riders on the team litters a GU wrapper, it may as well have been me.  However, perception is reality.  Truth is you’re not only a douche to the rest of us who are in the know about bike racing teams and group rides.  Outside our little two-wheeled Kumbayah singing Cincinnati circle you’re not on a team or the weekly group ride, you’re a part of a larger group known as those bike riders.

This past week a local team got thrown under the virtual Facebook bus.  I’d name them, but at this point it’d be rubbing salt in the already oozing road rash.  A veteran rider pointed out he saw the team run a red light in busy traffic.  A day or two earlier, a team member was seen littering a wrapper.  Ba bam!  They were called out on Facebook by their team name, the equivalent of an atomic public chamois wedgie.  Right now they are wishing they had eaten Spanish steaks via a syringe. 

Needless to say, they won’t be making “the list” anytime soon.  It’s too bad.  There are a lot of great people on that team, friends of mine, well educated people, true advocates of the sport and the city.  However, it wasn’t so-and-so who littered or ran the red light.  To those that witnessed the events, it was the team.

Then again, as the veteran rider pointed out, it wasn’t only the team.  Motorists and city residents don’t associate certain color combinations of spandex as team uniforms.  That’s inside information.  Yesterday I was talking to a neighbor of a friend while in my kit that says BioWheels in 19 different places.  We were chatting about local bike shops.  They didn’t even realize that I was wearing a BioWheels team uniform and my friend was wearing Smitty’s kit, two area shops only miles away.  Regular people only see people on bikes.  When they see someone litter or run a red light, they see you, a bike rider.

Sans Bike, Cyclist Out Run-Killed By Zombie

If only to survive the inevitable zombie attack, I believe everybody should be able to run a mile.  If not, accept the consequences…becoming an open head wound Zazzle.com t-shirt wearing zombie yourself. 

There’s added incentive in my neighborhood.  Aside from the fact that most of the Marlboro Maniacs that frequent the local quickie-mart are easy zombie targets which increases the chances of me being devoured by zombies, up in Mt. Lookout Square, exactly 1 mile away from my house is United Dairy Farmers Ice Cream Shop, Cincinnati’s Famous Zipps Café and the little known secret pizza place called Lucy Blue.  If it’s not to outrun chain-smoking zombies, I can run a mile for a cup of Raspberry Chocolate Chip.  However, without their bike at the ready, sadly most cyclists would face the fate of my less than healthy neighbors. 

You’re a cyclist.  You think you’re fit.  You can ride your bike for hours and hours, miles upon miles.  You can climb.  You can sprint.  You’ll be laid up for three days if you attempt to run for 10 minutes.  You’ve got the BMW twin-turbo engine, unfortunately you have the drive train of a 1978 Chevy Chevette.  You'd so not survive the zombie apocalypse. 

Behold!  I have discovered a running workout program for cyclists which will not make you sore, is more or less 20 minutes long, and if all goes well allow you to run the local 5k in a time your tri-athlete friends will not poke fun of.  In no time, you'll have the guns to out run any character on the Walking Dead and 99% of people who call running shoes sneakers.  

In an experiment, I sort of applied a cyclocross workout to running.  Last fall I started doing a workout gleaned from Cyclocross National Champion Katie Compton.  It’s called the 30-30-30 workout.  Essentially you sprint on the bike for 30 seconds, run for 30 seconds, ride easy for 30 seconds and repeat for 5-10 minutes.  While I did get faster at cross, both running and in transitions, I also noticed a huge unforeseen benefit.  I was not sore from running the next day, or the day after that.  Thank you Oprah.  Thank you Tom Cruise.  Thank you little baby Jesus.

Zombie Kllers Pearl Izumi Peak II

I’ve been running twice a week with the workouts below.  I’ll be on week 4 next week.  The key is easing into it with short 1 minute intervals.  The run is short, but right out the gate, faster than a zombie.  The rest is 1 minute, but a super easy brisk walk.  The walk speed could allow a determined zombie to catch up, but you’d take off again before he tears into your shoulders.  In 4 weeks, you’ll be up to a 2 mile run.  In 6, you’ll save face at the local 5k.  The big bonus, rest and a pace change is always on the horizon, because as a cyclist, running sucks as bad as a zombie attack.

WEEK 1: 18 Minutes

Warm up 3 minute walk at zombie pace (3.5-4mph). 

Easy jog for 30 seconds (5.5-6 mph).

Walk for 30.

Jog for 30.

Walk for 30.

Fast jog intervals 

(Fast jog, 6-6.5 mph, for 1 minute…followed by 1 minute walk. Alternate for 10 minutes.  Roughly 1.5 miles)

Cool down with 2-3 Minute walk.

WEEK 2: 22 Minutes

Same thing, but do the intervals at a Full-on run (7.5 mph) for 1 minute…followed by 1 minute walk and extend period to 15 minutes.  Was about 1.7 miles.

WEEK 3: 22 Minutes

Same thing, but extended the full on run to 1.5 minutes with same 1 minute walk rest.  Came out to almost 2 miles.

WEEK 4: 22 Minutes

Keep the run the same 1.5 minutes…maybe a pinch faster, but take the 1 minute rest period to the slow jog speed.  (essentially running for the whole 15 minutes, should be a bit over 2 miles)

WEEK 5: 25-30 Minutes

Probably extend the full on run to 2 minutes, keep the rest at a 1min jog, but extend the workout to 25-30 minutes.  Should end up being a sub 30 minute 5k (3 miles)

Joe Note: As a cyclist who is planning to run the Flying Pig Marathon, The Jimmy Road Rash blog has some good tips on running form this week.  Click here for video demo and more.

Going Out For Lunch in Cincinnati's Eden Park

Magnolias near Krohn Conservatory

I want to run

Snap photos in the park

Jump jack by the fountain

Revisit an old face

Daily Dare Devil

See something new

Clop up stone stairs

Breeze past the wall scaler

And hear a familiar wind whisper my ear

Carved Stone Pillar

Hesitate at the point

See a Magnolia in bloom

Snag the water bottle from my car

And drink it from the open tailgate

My Favorite Public Steps

So I abandon writing

Click close the windows

Open the double glass doors

And run in Eden Park

There’s An iSensor For That. (Sweat Voids iPod Warranty…really)

I thought I struck upon sheer iGenius.  Riding in this heat, I prefer to ride with my jersey unzipped with a thin base layer underneath.  If you like to use an iPod and do this, you run into an iKunundrum.  With the jersey zipped, the iHeadphone Cord is long enough to make it out and around the jersey pocket to your noggin, but with the jersey open, the iCord is not quite long enough and tends to tug at your ears when the jersey flaps in the wind.  My stroke of iGenius was to tuck the iPod Nano under my base layer on my shoulder blade.  I know!  I started singing the Homer Simpson song.  “I am so smart…s-m-r-t…I mean s-m-A-r-t!”  That was until sweat, detected by the iSensor, damaged my Nano and voided the warranty.  Really Seth and Amy?

With the Nano on my shoulder blade, it worked iAwesome.  In a riding position, the iPod rested flat; there was plenty of cord and no tug at the ears.  I tucked the excess cord in the back of my jersey.  The Nano is light and flat and after a warm up, I didn’t even notice it was there.  Guinness Brilliant!

Not quite.  After a few rides, I began noticing that the iPod wasn’t holding a charge as long as it used to.  Initially it would work for 3-4 rides.  Now it was dying on the 2^nd ride.  Then, it died in about 2 hours.  Uh oh.  Then, it wouldn’t charge.  Then…dear iJesus.

I was upset.  I received it as a holiday gift only 7 months ago.  I loved it.  It was blue.  It matched my team cycling kit.  I used it a lot.  Bike rides last a lot longer than most people’s 3 mile runs.  It’s certainly possible that I could use up a battery designed to last for more than a year in 7 months, I rationalized.  After exhausting all the fixes on the Apple website, I took it to the Apple store.

“Did you make an appointment,” the young iClerk asked.  What?  Really?  I need to make an appointment to return a product?  It’s broken and I’d like to see if you could either fix it or replace it.  It’s under warranty.   I can’t just leave it with you?  “Our back room is very big and this (iPod) is very small,” eluding that it would be easy to get lost.  I nodded.  You really need to make an appointment with the Genius Bar, he pressed.  You can do it online.  iSmoke was about to blow out my ears, but I held it back.  So, what you’re saying, I said, is that I need to go home, make an appointment, and then drive all the way back here.  I think he saw my point and appreciated a calm demeanor, so he offered to look into my issue between appointments.  I faked my gratefulness.

A few minutes passed and he came back out with a fresh iPod Nano, some paperwork to sign and noted that the warranty period would only extend one year from the initial purchase.  Understandable.  Happy, I signed the repair form and went home to charge it up, load the music and ride. 

Two weeks later.  Same thing.  iPod Nano, iDead.

So, I went online to make a service appointment.  Click.  What?  You have to be kidding me?  In more or less words, the error message said, we’re sorry our system doesn’t work with your browser.  Please download and install Safari (Apple’s web browser.)  I blew my top in our living room.  How many (bleeeep) fiery burning iHoops do I need to jump through to get this (bleeeep) fixed?  Serenity now.  Serenity now.  Luckily, I found another link, I think the one for my specific store, and I made the appointment without Safari.

This has water damage.  The iClerk said when I came in for my appointment.  You see there’s a little sensor (pictured from Apple website) in here and it’s been exposed to water.  “Well I didn’t drop it in a puddle or a toilet.  I use it for cycling.  It’s been hot out.  It must be sweat,” I retorted.  He pointed out the iSensor inside the headphone jack.  Like a pregnancy test, it turns color when touched by water.  He said, it shorted out.  He wasn’t budging and the sensor doesn’t discriminate between sweat and water.  He offered a discount on replacing it, 89 dollars and change.  “It’s not water damage.  It’s sweat.  I’m not paying $90 dollars to replace a product made for exercising that isn’t impervious to sweat.”  He was kind, but unyielding.  I left in a huff, dead iPod in hand.

Later, I found this iPod Warranty post on the Apple website:

Summary

If an iPhone or iPod has been damaged by liquid (for example, coffee or a soft drink), the service is not covered by the Apple one (1) year limited warranty or an AppleCare Protection Plan (APP). iPhone models and iPod models that were built after 2006 have built-in Liquid Contact Indicators that will show (as described below) whether the device has been in contact with water or a liquid containing water.  Click to read it all.

So be alert.  The world needs more lerts.  Sweat is made of water.  Sweat will kill your iPod and it won’t be covered by warranty.  I’m not the only person this has happened to.  Here’s another funny blog,  and another with links to a ton of comments about the issue.  So until Apple makes an iPod with better seals to address the problem that sweat can find its way into the electronics, you’re no better than a dufus who drops his iPod in the toilet.  Then, get ready to jump through the iHoops.  It’s you against the water sensor. 

Gee Your Chamois Smells Terrific

There’s mountain biking on a Colorado morning enveloped in the aroma of a dewey pine forest.  Then there’s a coffee ride downtown behind a truck belching black diesel exhaust.  There’s the aromatic scent of riding a park bike path through a grove of lilac bushes.  Then there’s being behind the retired local bike nut that can’t bring himself to wash let alone throw his reeking Mapai kit away.  There’s good manure, when riding past posh Lexington, Kentucky horse farms.  There’s bad manure, Eastern Kentucky chicken farms.  One of my favorite rides rolls past the Precinct Steakhouse in the beginning and finishes with fresh chocolate chip cookies at the Kellogg factory in Fairfax.  At a cyclocross race back in '03 some racers jumped the gun mistaking a rider's pre-race hearty beefy toot for the starters pistol.  From florescent green algae covered frog ponds to cemented urban rivers, many rides are defined by their nose.   Love ‘em, hate ‘em, smile or cry burning tears, they’re part of the experience.

Usually its nature, or the city or “that guy” that’s the source of the olfactory experience, until this past Thursday’s ride, where the smell emanated from moi.  No, I was not wearing a funkified freak show decade’s old Mapai kit.  However, someone had the gall to ask me, “What detergent do you use?”  At first I felt a moment of hesitation.  I quick sniffed my pits.  Was it a leading question, leading to, “do you even use detergent?”  I braced for the worst and dusted my thoughts for a comeback or at least an excuse.  Before I could respond gracefully, she added, “No.  I mean your kit smells nice.  What detergent do you use?” 

I was floored.  I’ve been asked about embrocation, training techniques, favorite routes, bar tape and the best place to pee on this stretch of road.  You name it.  This was the first time someone enquired about laundry detergent and the fine fragrance of my fanny, halfway through a ride I might add.  My riding friends from Cincinnati’s hometown Proctor and Gamble will be pleased to know we use new Tide Sport with Febreze, or maybe it's Tide Febreze Sport.  Well after further research, the Tide website calls it "NEW Tide plus Febreze Freshness Sport Liquid Laundry Detergent."  It boasts that, "Tide plus Febreze Freshness SPORT is specially formulated to fight tough sports stains like grass, dirt, clay, and blood."  No mention of roink reek or taint rot on the label, but apparently it works on bike shorts too.  After I caught my breath from reading the brand name, I saw it has a picture of a great smelling pretty woman jogger on the label.  You can tell she smells wonderful because her shirt is green and it appears she's running on a cloud, which we all know is the worlds best smelling environment for working out in the world.  It's a heck of a lot less expensive than Sportwash and single stinky gentlemen take note, it’s obviously a hit with the ladies.

Farmer Blow...Don't Blow It

Farmers, runners, kayakers, cyclists all have one thing in common: the farmer blow.  If there’s not one already, there’s bound to be a 2^nd definition of Farmer Blow on the Urban Dictionary that has nothing to do with snot, nor a bike, but a whole lot to do with the art of rural love making.  This is about the first definition: the act of dislodging a nose nugget with nothing but forced nasal air.  Moreover, I cannot stress this enough, while farmer blows may be an accepted practice while riding a bicycle, doing another outdoor sport or gathering the harvest, it should not be practiced anywhere else…like say while wearing a designer suit just before a meeting with a big client.  Yes…it happened.  Yes…people were horrified.  No…it wasn’t me and no I will never tell.

Personally, just like snapping with my left hand or rolling my tongue upside down, I can’t do a farmer blow.  Part of it is the dexterity and body coordination necessary, the other part is I fear, unlike my ability to spit like a major leaguer in the dugout, I may lack control of the trajectory of something flying out of my nose.  The last part is that, even though I still laugh at farts, I somehow think farmer blows are as gross as my cat licking the earwax of used Q-tips or my retired mother letting the parakeet rub its parakeet bits against her knuckle while sitting on her hand and dismissing it as “natural.”  Still I envy those with the talent.

There are cyclists I know that can accurately fire a mucus missile better than most Redman users can hit a spittoon.  Pa-bing!  While riding at high speed they can deftly plug the unclogged nostril with one finger, and like a potato gun, can air-cannon the booger ball from the other precisely under their arm, above their leg and right into the sewer on the side of the road.  Two points!  I’ve seen it.  It was so amazing and spectacular I nearly applauded.  Bravo Maestro of the Mucus.  Bravo!

It just so happens that one of these mucus maestro cyclists was traveling on business.  Dressed in the finest BananaRepublic.com can deliver and headed into an important client meeting, they and their boss parked their shared rental car and gathered their laptops and folders.  With the traditional “is there any spinach in my teeth” pre-meeting checks taking place, the at-work cyclist checked that the shoes weren’t scuffed, finger nails were clean, put finger to nose and pulled the trigger.  Mmmph-phoop.  Oh yeah.  Then, like a best man adjusting himself in front of first-time family, the reality of the situation overtook the cyclist.  At first, the cyclist thought, “maybe the boss didn’t see it.”  Which of course lasted all of 1.4 seconds when the boss asked, “did you…uh…just…,” without finishing the question.  Yes.  Yes came the sheepish admission.  For splayed on the lapel of that freshly dry cleaned high end suit jacket lay the shrapnel of proof.

Inland Tsunami Warning: Inside People Beware!

Sound the sirens! Type the twitters! Inside People listen up! This is not an EAS test. It’s not a rogue wave on the Ohio, but the Athleticometeorologists at The Best Bike Blog Ever Institute for Outdoor Recreation have issued an Inland Tsunami Warning from sunrise on Saturday March 6th through sunset on Sunday March 7th for the Greater Cincinnati area and points south. With air temperatures forecast to be nearly 20 degrees warmer than what residents have experienced in the past month, the roads and sidewalks and bike paths of Cincinnati will certainly flood this weekend with a big ass wave of recreationalists. Oh the humanity! Since it may take a long time for those with more girth than most to get the hell out of the way, smokers and those otherwise unfit should start slogging their way to higher ground immediately, or at least away from public areas and thoroughfares. Those prone to get irate with runners running against traffic in the street or who bang their steering wheels and can’t control their middle finger when cyclists ride two abreast on the road should take a double dose of chill pills right now. Residents and travelers of roads such as Riverside, Route 8, Route 10, Round Bottom or any secondary road that starts with a number and ends in the word mile, (for example: 5 Mile) should be on notice for an annoying amount of bicycle and foot traffic. Roads that combine the names of two adorable rural towns (such as Loveland-Madeira) should also be avoided. Drivers are also advised to avoid scenic routes and roads with covered bridges and instead travel roads that normally have the most amounts of cars and highest speed limits. Routes that begin with the letter “I” followed by a number (like I-75) are highly recommended. Additionally, vehicular travel on any road that contains the true to life descriptives of creek, lane, hill, old or shady in its name will likely be impeded. Lastly, pretty much, attempting to drive on any road in the beautiful community of Indian Hill should probably be avoided all together.

At this time, as a community service to those that may be considered “inside people,” The Best Bike Blog Ever would like to offer a blanket advance apology for the amount of what you would call “idiots” on the roads and sidewalks and bike paths this weekend. A mile is 5280 feet, and no doubt on average you’ll encounter at least 5281 idiots per mile. These so called idiots will likely include: runners, walkers, skateboarders, cyclists, dog-walkers and that one guy in town who has figured out how to combine all of the aforementioned outdoor activities into one with his urban dog sled. Those near neighborhood parks should be on the lookout for the errant Frisbee or over zealous unleashed pooch. To avoid the idiots, Inside People are advised right now to stock up with plenty of smokes, butter, salt, cheesy poofs, shortening, Lil Kings, and gasoline at your local Krogers (the “s” added on purpose) before sunrise on Saturday, March 5th. Once again, this Inland Tsunami warning for The Greater Cincinnati area, and other areas south expected to experience temperatures at least 20 degrees warmer than the past few weeks, will expire at sunset on Sunday March 6th. Thank you for your cooperation.

Don’t Hate On The Run Homie: Three Running Rules For Cyclists

I used to be a hater of the run, quite frankly because the echoes of my Full Metal Jacket wannabe 7^th grade gym teacher screaming “pull hard, finish strong” still tortures me to this day.  Running a mile and militant Phy-Ed teachers rank right up there with your parent’s choice in music on the suck-o-meter when you’re 12.  Now, a couple of decades later, I’ve realized running can live in harmony with my bike, maybe Mister Keller wasn’t a complete tool and maybe the 70’s band Bread wasn’t totally lame.  As a cyclist, running can be great training and just as great an escape, if you choose your routes carefully.  You could only snap the photo above of the Dorado, Puerto Rico coastline on foot.  In that way, running makes me appreciate my rides more.

Rule number one: I only run where I can’t ride a bike.  That can be the first challenge.  Goat path trails and/or stairs mark every running route I do.  Last week on vacation in Puerto Rico coral cliffs, deepish sand and the steep cuts of stream inlets marked my ocean front run.  At home in Cincinnati, I always choose a route that incorporates a couple flights of the cities famous public steps or a detour through the downed branch strewn hiking trails in a local park.  Choosing a route I couldn’t tackle on two wheels helps me explain the running to the evil cyclist in my head.  Being slower, running can reveal details of scenery a bike can’t deliver, like those in these photos of my runs in Dorado, Puerto Rico last week. 

Rule number two: while I usually run 2-3 times a week, I only run when I can’t ride.  Lunch hour is a perfect time to eek in a 40-45 minute run and still have time for a sink shower and wolf down a sandwich in the same time your coworkers drive to McDonalds and make a stop at the mall.  Plus, you can double up on the day with bike ride after work.  At home I run at night, or when weekend trips to Target, fixing this old house, or weather get in the way of a respectable length ride. 

Rule number three: while I usually run anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour, I never usually run the entire time.  It makes running more exciting.  I break up my runs with 3-4 sets of crunches, pushups and other core/plyometric exercises.  On my work run, I split the run up at the tops of three big lookout hills.  I did the same in Puerto Rico, stopping at incredible vistas.  At each stop, I hit the dirt and give my 7^th grade drill sergeant 25 crunches, 15 pushups, 25 jumping jacks and 15 star jumps.  As I continue on toward the next hill, I hear “pull hard, finish strong” in my head. 

Cling Wrap Pants

You know you’re a forty year old athlete when…you forget your pants.  This is the third time for me in as many weeks.  Maybe it’s an early sign.  Three out of the last five times I’ve brought clothes to go running from work, I’ve forgot my running tights.  I know there’s a difference between tights and pants but, the word “pants” seems to fit better and it’s funnier.  Pants.  See?  It’s been less than 25 degrees out each of those days I planned on running over lunch at work.  Needless to say, some sort of leg covering is sort of necessary.  I’m not a card carrying member of the Polar Bear Club.  I don’t garner any sadistic tough guy feeling from cold franks and beans (There’s Something About Mary).  While it’s only temporary and personally embarrassing, there’s still shrinkage to consider.

“Son of a!” is my usual exclamation.  This phrase is usually uttered after three complete inventories of the contents of my backpack while bending over berries in the breeze in the employee restroom.  That is then followed by the horrific thought that if I forgot my tights, I might have forgot to lock the door.  I turn to check.  Fhew!  Then I laugh wondering what if someone outside the bathroom door heard me say “son of a!”  Then I chuckle inside wondering what if someone outside heard me laughing in the bathroom.  Then there’s a brief thought of actually going outside in 17 degree weather with only shorts to protect Johnson and the Nuggets.  So far, I’ve had better sense.  I guess if you’re driving through Cincinnati’s Eden Park when it’s sub 25 degrees outside and see me running bare legged that I have taken the step into senility and you’re welcome to shout “hey dufus, put on some pants” from your car window.    

With this track record, I know that it will be cold again in the coming weeks; I will want to go for a run over lunch; I will forget my pants again.  So, like a kid with idiot straps on his mittens, I need to prepare for my own stupidity.  Since I obviously don’t have the brain power at seven o’clock in the morning to remember seven items of clothing, I could write a list: socks, shoes, tights, shorts, long sleeve shirt, hat, and jacket.  I could bring a spare set of winter running clothes and leave them in a cabinet.  Or, there’s always the Glad Cling Wrap in the employee kitchen, if I could trust myself to remember to put my work pants back on before I walk down the hallway. 

American Idle Workout

You got a suspected doper, a loudmouth who calls out all your faults, a skinny guy who tries to hold the group together and a guy who’s uses worn out phrases in every vocalization….pothole dawg.  It’s a typical breakaway group.  Tuesday night I’m riding with Paula, Randy, Simon and Ryan.  It’s the American Idol 2009 premiere and your chance to be more active than the billion or so real American idles who’ll watch the show growing a root in the sofa under a trough full of raspberry chocolate chip delight.  Below is a spinning trainer workout I’ve painstakingly created in 14.2 seconds that you can do on a bicycle trainer, a treadmill, elliptical or any other fitness apparatus you can stick in front of the TV.  It’s a two hour show, so mix it up if the thought of two hours on a bike trainer makes you urk up a puke.  Do an hour and fifteen minutes on the bike and a 45 minute run.  Print it off, take it to the gym, give it to your spinning instructor or bring it to your home torture chamber Tuesday night.  I tried to make it winter/spring friendly, meaning its more strength and endurance based.

SET-UP WARM UP

No doubt the first 5-10 minutes of the American Idol Season 8 Premiere before the first commercial break will relive past Idol shows, total train wreck performances and setting up where they are filming now blah-blah-blah.  Start spinning or walking and ramp yourself into a nice endurance type effort.  Take this pace into the first commercial break.

COMMERCIAL BREAK/PROMO PUSH

During commercials drop the tempo down to recovery mode, but get ready.  When the Fox promos come on (commercials that tease upcoming FOX shows and the local nightly newscast) up the tempo to 80 percent.  Chances are you’ll get nice little 3 minute recovery followed by a 20-60 second hard effort tempo intervals in every break, kind of like coming to the front of the paceline.  Be aware and pay attention, sometimes they’ll run commercials, a promo, another commercial and more promos. 

IDOL ENDURANCE

When the show comes back on, endure the show in endurance mode, a 75% effort, with the below exceptions.   

DAWG-STUPID-SLAM INTERVALS

During the show, whenever Randy says “dawg,” Paula says something stupid that sounds Vicadin induced, or Simon slams someone; you’re down for a 30 second hard tempo effort.  Just like during the commercial break promos, think of a turn at the front of the paceline or running over a little riser on your neighborhood run.  These are most likely to occur during judging.  If that’s the case, they could add up, so start your hard effort after the last judge is done speaking.  You could be down for up to a one and a half minute effort.  For example, when the singer really does actually sing well and Randy says, “yo dawg that was so money and you don’t even know it,” you’re in for 30 seconds.  Then Paula might say sniffling “you make me weep…you…are what this competition is all about.”  Now you’re in for a full minute, as long as Simon agrees.

TOKEN DUFUS DEATH MARCH

No doubt some time during Idol they’ll play cuts of some numb nut with something barely identifiable as a song spewing from their word hole.  When they play, you pay.  For the duration of the dufus, you’re up and out of the saddle in a big hill climbing gear or, if you’re on a treadmill, change the angle to “death march” mode.  Be aware that a Token Dufus might be followed by a quip from one of the judges.  If that’s the case, you might be cranking up the effort during the last part of that death march.

RECAP COOL DOWN

Probably with about 10 minutes left in the show, they’ll take a look back, replay the highlights, and tease the next episode.  You’re day is done at the 1:50 mark, cool down.