Satisfied Confusion

Finished.  I am finally finished with next year's training plan.  Things look very positive for the 2012 cycling season, indeed.

Hope.  I finally figured out that I am not hopeful in things under my control, like training or racing, or large projects around the house, etc.  ~My mind wanders and I think of dimples.

Jack Frost, Banana Belt, PIR, Mt. Tabor in the spring with thoughts of California in the summer.  ~My mind wanders and I think of a sultry voice.

This year was more, and less, of what I prayed it would be.  I did not get anything done on the yard, but I am in the best off-season shape I've been in for the last 20 years.  I helped others this year to a new personal height.  I was reacquainted with friends I have not seen in 25 years.  A full, satisfying year. 

With 2012 rapidly approaching, I look at my arch nemesis in the face.  There we stare into each other’s unforgiving eyes, each of us unwilling to back down; as I ponder if this is the year I defeat my ultimate rival.  I knew him as a very young child.  He fooled me, taunted me, and beat me into submission so many times I gave up long ago and stopped believing in what he stood for.  But, for some unknown reason - or maybe it is faith, here I am, staring him in the face again once more.   Could this be the year I defeat him and learn how to Hope once more?

Clydesdale Curse - The End

I reach over groggily and smacked the top of my alarm.  The darkness outside told the tale; six, I thought, too bloody early and closed my eyes.  A half hour later I was up and wondered if I should solo or ride with Velo.  They backed the starting time an hour to avoid the worst of part of the 95+ degree day and it was already 6:30, so I really had no excuse.  I missed Riding with Dean and Kent and really needed to get used to a group again after so many years out of the peleton.  Before I dressed, I jumped up on Evil.  It read 188; the same as yesterday.  I have officially resigned as a cycling Clydesdale.

I left the house and started the gentle climb up Century Blvd before a car slowed along side me.  "Hey!  You with Velo?!", the man asked while smiling from ear to ear.  "Wanna ride to the start!?"  I doubt he will ever know how much I appreciated the gesture, but I needed the warm up and the extra miles.  We were only clocking out 40 today, but with the ride to and fro, I could tally up another eight or nine miles to that.  Once there Dean yelled over to me as we caught up during the pre-ride announcements.  He also coaxed me into the 21 group.  I shuttered, but my friend Kent was leading, so I knew it would be controlled.  The 21s are the fastest group without joining the Hammer and Nails racing team, but can still get very aggressive.

We strolled for a bit and a couple mild attacks took form, but nothing I could not bridge, and bridge I did.  Each bridge was an average of 50 KPH, rejoining the rear pack to the more aggressive riders.

Numbers like these to a couch potato are mind boggling, but to a typical cyclist are nothing extraordinary; and to a elite racer another typical solo time trial.

But to me, this was a real crossroad.  I did not plan on being where I was in mere 10 weeks.  10 weeks ago, I was 212 pounds, desperately trying to keep my heart rate below 160 at 28 kilometers per hour.  Now, in a pace line, my heart rate was 142 while spinning at 22 miles per hour (36KPH).  If I wanted to work, I would easily spin up to 50 KPH, get in the front, and pull for a few miles.  This may sound like boasting, but really I am typing this in disbelief.  I never thought I would be here in any amount of time.  My personal goal was a 20 mile per hour average at February's Jack Frost Time Trial and I could do that now with ease.

So, now that the curse is over, where to go from here?  Should I take it to the next level?  Should I just stay put?  Decisions, decisions...

TRUST: Tales from an introvered Christian - Part 2

So a month has come and gone and what a month it has been.  I have put my personal growth project to the test with fairly good results.

In trying to take care of this body that the Lord granted me, cycling to work, lifting weights afterwards and working away on our church roof, stressed my body to the point of a pinched sciatica. While granting myself a needed rest, I had time to reflect on why I spent so much time on the roof when I was already zapped from trying to get in shape.  Being on the roof granted me the time to get to know my church family.  It gave me a sense of being part of the church, not just another member.  Some of my church family I got to know a little more, some no more at all, and some much more than before the work began.  I got to experience the conflicting egos at work as well as love and dedication.

The one thing I did not get is affirmation of my dedication.  Instead, I just received a higher level of guilt each day I could not make it back up there within accelerating requests for help day after day. 

I brought this subject up on my knees and was then affirmed.  The effort I spent eight hours a day on the weekends and up to four hours a day on weekdays was between me and the Lord; no one else.  My church family did not matter.  My Pastor did not matter.  I worked with a smile on my face because I was doing something for Him.  Sure, everyone at my church would benefit, but it was all for Him - a slightly introverted state-of-mind and one I adored.

It was the 24th of July and another service to attend.  I was tired and went mentally back and forth whether or not I should go.  I had all kinds of excuses prepared; I had to get showered, get the kids ready, clean up the kitchen, etc.  Again, on my knees, I felt a very strong, but nurturing urge to go to church that morning.

I showered.  I dressed the kids.  I cleaned the kitchen.  I went to MY church.

During service, my pastor stopped, and near teary-eyed, told everyone how much the work meant to him and that we were working on our church; God's church.  We were the church and acknowledged the sacrifices we were making for God.

It took faith to follow the right path.  I did not have to think outside my own box, manipulated by the social mindset of others and the outcome was just what I needed.  The Lord knew what I needed.

TRUST: Tales from an Introverted Christian

My friend Elaine will always be an inspiration to me.  In fact, she was the first friend I ever had that truly taught me how to express what I felt.  Most likely, she will read this and blush or deny it.  She tried tirelessly to get me to trust with the most positive attitude I have witnessed.  For her it seemed natural and because of this she is now married and the happiest she has ever been to the most wonderful man. 

For me, an introvert, it is just not that easy.  Introverts generally have an uncanny knack for reading people in the deepest sense.   It is a blessing at times and a curse at others.

So, why am I writing this gibberish?  Introverts are the minority in this extrovert-driven society and I find I share the same thoughts, feelings, concerns, disappointments, aspirations, and dreams.  One of those feelings is a lack of trust.  So how do you simply trust someone?  My personal answer is you can’t.  Not an introvert. 

We just place entirely too much stock into the people we call “friends”.  What I have found though is through faith; I have learned how to trust, just not without faith first.  Sounds confusing, eh?  Well, it does to me and I am writing it!  Faith helped me know who I can trust and helped me forgive who I could not.  I had to think of faith as the rule book on how to tell if you can trust someone at all.

Now, with that all being said, it was not easy for this introvert to choose the Christian life.  Introverts are ones to ask how, and why, and who, and when, etc.  When you have to place faith into something unseen, it is simply unrealistic and illogical.  Notice how I said faith.  Faith is not trust.  Trust is twisting your key in your new car in the morning without thinking about the outcome.  Faith is believing in something that makes no sense at all or something you could not even begin to figure out.  And if you think one can just wake up one morning and have faith, well maybe they can.  But, it took me over 20 years.  My reason is that in order for me to have faith, I had to let go-let go of reason.

Because of my faith I now have a mother I am getting to know deeply.  I have children that are happier than ever before.  I have been there for my uncle in his darkest times during some of my hardest moments.  But most of all, I have a large, Christian family to call my own.  I love, joyfully, in larger quantities than ever before.

My definition of love-sacrifice.

Clydesdale Curse

A couple weeks in the gym, a week of swimming, and a week roofing was not what I had in mind for getting my rusty cycling legs back in shape.  All these calories spent while not eating any more than normal tacked another three pounds on my already-fat ass.

Frustration aside, today was too beautiful to say no when given the opportunity to ride into work.  Although spinning at 100 RPM took real effort, anything other than flat pavement sent my heart rate to Mars, and a 30 mile per hour pace seemed light years away, the hunger is still growing to just be around it again!

Baby Steps

Over the years, I have touched on the subject of cycling and since it is my motivation for getting back into shape, I feel it deserves an explanation. 

About 15 years ago, for one reason or another, I was enamoured with the idea of bicycle touring.  To head out into the unknown with only the items you could stuff into your saddle bags.  With the idea firmly placed in my head, I set out alone, and sometimes with a close friend (now racing for the same team I am on) into the Mount Hood National Forest.  In many ways, it was much like the backpacking I do today, minus two wheels.

My bike kept me out of trouble, gave me self esteem, and kept me in great shape.  Soon after, I took a chance on racing and was hooked.  With a (downhill) maximum sprint speed of 53MPH, I took a top 3 placing in every novice category my first year, only being beaten by Jay; an animal that went from CAT4 to CAT2 in the very next year.  That just isn't done.  I remember while drifting off to sleep, my bikes would be the last thing I saw and the first thing the minute I woke up.  The dream was to race professionally.

Soon enough, there was a wife, kids, house, and a career while cycling became a fuzzy, mental picture that I rarely took out of my minds dusty archive.  The problem was I never got over the desire to constantly challenge myself; test myself; see if I was better than I thought I was.  I tried, like most, in my career, but did not care enough about money.  I tried on my materialistic things, but found I just did not give a shit with keeping up with the Jones.  Nope.  Who I was, was who I was and there was no denying; I loved friendly, tagable, wholesome competition.  I don't remember ever being angry about getting my butt handed to me by other riders.  I just remember grinning from ear to ear thinking "ah, a new benchmark".

My New Blog

I suppose a blog was long overdue.  I had one on my own site, but writing it via code sucked and took too long and, consequently, it was horribly outdated.  I will try to post important views and information, but no guarantees.  This is just a good way to update friends and family.  We will see how it goes.