Happiness is… Riding in Wet Misery

I will do anything to avoid riding inside. Anything. I’m not sure where the stubbornness comes from, aside from it being my general way of life as a constant upstream-swimmer sort of person. It’s irritating to everyone who’s ever tried to work with me, but it’s also why I’m the endurance athlete I am today.  

 

That’s what all my favorite rides and races boil down to, stubbornness. Present me with an absurd number of miles in equally absurd weather, and I am thrilled. Maybe it’s the bragging rights. Maybe it’s the uncertainty. Maybe it’s knowing that simply finishing is an accomplishment in itself rendering power numbers (and all that other data I hate to look at) completely irrelevant. Whatever it is, I find it irresistible.  

Day one is easy. On day one, your shoes are dry in the morning, and you have every kit option to choose from. Your bike still looks like it’s owned by a responsible person. Spirits are high and legs are fresh. Day two is maybe the hardest.

By day two your shoes are wet. Day two your bike is already coated in a thin film of grime and is covered in little rust spots because you came home yesterday and haphazardly sprayed it off while shedding all your soggy clothing and falling asleep at 8:30 pm after gorging on an entire pizza. But with a rushed lube job in the wee hours of the morning, you’re off. Legs lead-heavy, brain foggy.  

Day three is when it starts to get good. When the delirium of fatigue becomes a permanent state;  everything is frustrating but everything is also really funny. Your legs have hurt for so many cumulative miles that hurt is just the baseline. More or less hurt, it doesn’t really matter. It just is. Day three you realize just how much you love your friends, because one minute you can snap at them for leaving you in the wind and the next minute, you’re wringing out gloves together and giggling at the futility of it all.  

I’m pretty sure that’s why I’ve become a permanent fixture on the Easton roster. I put things through the paces, as the saying goes, and they work. And that’s a sweet, sweet, comfort at 300-some miles in with God knows how many more to go. I ride up next to Maude on day three and ask how she is. “Fine,” she responds. I ask if she wants to ride more. “No.” Are you heading back home? “Yes.” Will you be there when I get back? “No.” Okay then. Bye-bye.

 

I just don’t know when to stop. My knees are yelling at me, and I can say (with absolute certainty) that any remaining miles will have zero benefits to my fitness this season. I’m in a hole of suffering so deep that I’m just doing more damage that I’ll pay for later. I’m alone by now with everyone else having thrown in the towel. I’m still determined to hit 100 on the day, soaked to the bone and in a bad mood and wondering if everyone hates me. Yet somehow, there is nothing I’d rather be doing. A week later and all my friends are back riding, knocking out specific workouts and sharpening their proverbial knives. I’m back home in Tahoe skate skiing, my bike still in shambles. My trainer accumulates dust in the corner of my apartment. I’m at peace.

-- Amity Rockwell

 

No thank you, La Niña.

If Amity’s early season training is defined by BDRs (Big Dumb Rides), mine is the SNBS: Scintillating New Bingeable Series. My greatest attribute as an athlete could be my love of television. I don’t hate riding inside and, in fact, it’s my preferred choice when the alternative is two hours of intervals in the pitch black 6 am darkness in near-freezing rain on a winding mountain road (with no shoulder and covered in storm debris) with cars speeding by at 60mph. Could be my age. Could be my life right now. But I don’t feel the need to prove anything by putting myself through that level of discomfort. I also don’t have the luxury to “wait” until the morning sun comes, which really isn’t even a thing that exists in the Bay Area right now. My trainer — which resides in my postage stamp-sized office slash bike room slash laundry room slash gear shed — is a safe, warm, inviting alternative ready and waiting for any effort, any length, any time of day, in any weather. It’s trusty, familiar and just straight-up more reliable than the outdoors right now. Even in a power outage, I can still plug it into my electric truck.

California’s winter has resembled more like the infamous winters I grew up with in New Hampshire. We’ve tallied a week of no power and internet outages due to high winds and heavy rain. It snowed three inches two consecutive mornings at home, a place whose last blizzard warning was in 1989. The otherwise sunny, cool, enviable riding paradise people seem to associate with the entirety of California was swapped for a wet, soul-chilling, gray-skied bleakscape with unrideable trails and debris-laden trails. Go outside to pound out hours of miles in sideways rain? No thank you, La Niña.

Accepting my indoor training fate simplifies things. Getting dressed is an uncomplicated effort. I save 25-30 minutes (of precious time) prepping my bike and all my accessories in order to ride outside. I get more pedal time without descents and I consolidate my entertainment time with my training time. I still find it icky to watch television at 6 am and I can’t help but wonder if I’m somehow turning my brain into mashed potatoes.

 

But beyond its simplicity, I find immense satisfaction in the training itself. You could put me in a windowless cell for an hour with only a screen to help me exercise and I’d probably say it was a good time. The act of executing the plan is deeply gratifying. It’s especially true early in the season when I have so much fitness to gain and the bitter, wet morning darkness offers zero inspiration desire to pedal beyond my driveway.

It’s never a good idea to compare your training against others. I watch my competitors put up huge weeks; 20 hours, 30 hours… I wonder how I’ll ever be competitive against them in a many-hours-long race. “Is that what I’m supposed to be doing?” is a regular question to my coach. I know I shouldn’t look, but I do it anyway. Maybe the self-doubt helps drive me back to my proverbial “pain cave”, the place that doubles as my entertainment hall.  

Maybe the entertainment element is the perfect distraction from the discomfort I feel on the bike. The indulgence of binge-watching TV for hours is the little gift I grant myself for showing up to the hard work every week. I’m not too proud to admit that I just love television and I love working out. Together they make a nice pairing. Don’t get me wrong, I am eagerly awaiting longer days and sunny mornings again, but for the next couple of months, you can find me inside.

If you like quality television while putting your legs through the grinder, here are some suggestions to keep you going: Bad Sisters (Apple TV), Make or Break (Apple TV), The Recruit (Netflix), White Lotus (HBO), The Last of Us (HBO).

-- Maude Farrell

Happiness is… Riding in Wet Misery

I will do anything to avoid riding inside. Anything. I’m not sure where the stubbornness comes from, aside from it being my general way of life as a constant upstream-swimmer sort of person. It’s irritating to everyone who’s ever tried to work with me, but it’s also why I’m the endurance athlete I am today.  

 

That’s what all my favorite rides and races boil down to, stubbornness. Present me with an absurd number of miles in equally absurd weather, and I am thrilled. Maybe it’s the bragging rights. Maybe it’s the uncertainty. Maybe it’s knowing that simply finishing is an accomplishment in itself rendering power numbers (and all that other data I hate to look at) completely irrelevant. Whatever it is, I find it irresistible.  

Day one is easy. On day one, your shoes are dry in the morning, and you have every kit option to choose from. Your bike still looks like it’s owned by a responsible person. Spirits are high and legs are fresh. Day two is maybe the hardest.

By day two your shoes are wet. Day two your bike is already coated in a thin film of grime and is covered in little rust spots because you came home yesterday and haphazardly sprayed it off while shedding all your soggy clothing and falling asleep at 8:30 pm after gorging on an entire pizza. But with a rushed lube job in the wee hours of the morning, you’re off. Legs lead-heavy, brain foggy.  

Day three is when it starts to get good. When the delirium of fatigue becomes a permanent state;  everything is frustrating but everything is also really funny. Your legs have hurt for so many cumulative miles that hurt is just the baseline. More or less hurt, it doesn’t really matter. It just is. Day three you realize just how much you love your friends, because one minute you can snap at them for leaving you in the wind and the next minute, you’re wringing out gloves together and giggling at the futility of it all.  

I’m pretty sure that’s why I’ve become a permanent fixture on the Easton roster. I put things through the paces, as the saying goes, and they work. And that’s a sweet, sweet, comfort at 300-some miles in with God knows how many more to go. I ride up next to Maude on day three and ask how she is. “Fine,” she responds. I ask if she wants to ride more. “No.” Are you heading back home? “Yes.” Will you be there when I get back? “No.” Okay then. Bye-bye.

 

I just don’t know when to stop. My knees are yelling at me, and I can say (with absolute certainty) that any remaining miles will have zero benefits to my fitness this season. I’m in a hole of suffering so deep that I’m just doing more damage that I’ll pay for later. I’m alone by now with everyone else having thrown in the towel. I’m still determined to hit 100 on the day, soaked to the bone and in a bad mood and wondering if everyone hates me. Yet somehow, there is nothing I’d rather be doing. A week later and all my friends are back riding, knocking out specific workouts and sharpening their proverbial knives. I’m back home in Tahoe skate skiing, my bike still in shambles. My trainer accumulates dust in the corner of my apartment. I’m at peace.

-- Amity Rockwell

 

No thank you, La Niña.

If Amity’s early season training is defined by BDRs (Big Dumb Rides), mine is the SNBS: Scintillating New Bingeable Series. My greatest attribute as an athlete could be my love of television. I don’t hate riding inside and, in fact, it’s my preferred choice when the alternative is two hours of intervals in the pitch black 6 am darkness in near-freezing rain on a winding mountain road (with no shoulder and covered in storm debris) with cars speeding by at 60mph. Could be my age. Could be my life right now. But I don’t feel the need to prove anything by putting myself through that level of discomfort. I also don’t have the luxury to “wait” until the morning sun comes, which really isn’t even a thing that exists in the Bay Area right now. My trainer — which resides in my postage stamp-sized office slash bike room slash laundry room slash gear shed — is a safe, warm, inviting alternative ready and waiting for any effort, any length, any time of day, in any weather. It’s trusty, familiar and just straight-up more reliable than the outdoors right now. Even in a power outage, I can still plug it into my electric truck.

California’s winter has resembled more like the infamous winters I grew up with in New Hampshire. We’ve tallied a week of no power and internet outages due to high winds and heavy rain. It snowed three inches two consecutive mornings at home, a place whose last blizzard warning was in 1989. The otherwise sunny, cool, enviable riding paradise people seem to associate with the entirety of California was swapped for a wet, soul-chilling, gray-skied bleakscape with unrideable trails and debris-laden trails. Go outside to pound out hours of miles in sideways rain? No thank you, La Niña.

Accepting my indoor training fate simplifies things. Getting dressed is an uncomplicated effort. I save 25-30 minutes (of precious time) prepping my bike and all my accessories in order to ride outside. I get more pedal time without descents and I consolidate my entertainment time with my training time. I still find it icky to watch television at 6 am and I can’t help but wonder if I’m somehow turning my brain into mashed potatoes.

 

But beyond its simplicity, I find immense satisfaction in the training itself. You could put me in a windowless cell for an hour with only a screen to help me exercise and I’d probably say it was a good time. The act of executing the plan is deeply gratifying. It’s especially true early in the season when I have so much fitness to gain and the bitter, wet morning darkness offers zero inspiration desire to pedal beyond my driveway.

It’s never a good idea to compare your training against others. I watch my competitors put up huge weeks; 20 hours, 30 hours… I wonder how I’ll ever be competitive against them in a many-hours-long race. “Is that what I’m supposed to be doing?” is a regular question to my coach. I know I shouldn’t look, but I do it anyway. Maybe the self-doubt helps drive me back to my proverbial “pain cave”, the place that doubles as my entertainment hall.  

Maybe the entertainment element is the perfect distraction from the discomfort I feel on the bike. The indulgence of binge-watching TV for hours is the little gift I grant myself for showing up to the hard work every week. I’m not too proud to admit that I just love television and I love working out. Together they make a nice pairing. Don’t get me wrong, I am eagerly awaiting longer days and sunny mornings again, but for the next couple of months, you can find me inside.

If you like quality television while putting your legs through the grinder, here are some suggestions to keep you going: Bad Sisters (Apple TV), Make or Break (Apple TV), The Recruit (Netflix), White Lotus (HBO), The Last of Us (HBO).

-- Maude Farrell