Booze and Clipless Pedals Do Not Mix

Booze and Clipless Pedals Do Not Mix

It all started with a slight nervousness as I pondered upon placing my new, bright and shiny, clipless shoes into my clipless pedals. I was so frightened that I would fall off, I decided to walk my bike all the way to the park in my socks. I was on my way to a very dear friend who has contributed much in the way of emotional support as well as financial support in helping me purchase the equipment needed to have a good assault at the up and coming Mayflower Sprint Triathlon.

Dinner was scheduled for 6pm and it was almost 5:15pm. Now, my friend lives on the east side, 89th neighborhood. I live on the west side, 68th neighborhood. I did not have a metro card as I did not pick up my pay check so I still only had sixteen dollars in the bank. The bike was a no brainer and it would get me there easily. I could go slow enough not to sweat through my shirt. I did bring another shirt change so that I would be a nice smelling house guest. My friend is of proper lineage and deserves a respectful and proper house guest. This is not always easy for me to do since everything I own, I could fit in the back seat of my car. Three pair of pants, two dress shirts and various miss matched socks. Lol. Tons of sweat pants and ghetto looking short sleeve shirts. I am a man of simple needs without want for anything but a smile and a plateful of food once in a while. Life is great for me that way.

I sat on the porch with my friend, but this time it was different. I asked for an adult beverage. I do not drink hardly at all. I have lost 23 pounds now and with my little frame and physical shape, it really does not take much to get me tipsy. I was offered bourbon and something about soda or rocks - hell - I just pretended to know what he was talking about. I ended up with bourbon on the rocks. Holy crap! How can anyone drink that stuff? Lol. After my first chocolate milk sized gulp, I just sipped for the rest of the night. The funny thing was that after four hours of sipping, every time I got up I would feel progressively more dizzy. One drink, not even finished, and yet I was tipsy. I asked my host if the next time I come over if I would be served only a half a glass of this stuff because it really was strong. My friend's answer was "Paul. Yes it is strong and do you know that is your 7th glass of that so called stuff?" Oh my Lord! What the hell? I still had my bike to ride home! I still only had my clipless shoes to put into my clipless pedals and try to navigate over one block, up one block, and over one more block, back into the park where I would be a bit safer than in the middle of the Manhattan taxi bumper car driven world of 5th Avenue. I was freaking out but not letting on at all how I was thinking of walking home the entire way in my socks.

Okay, on the bike now. I did not have half as much trouble putting my shoes into the pedals as I thought. Road over one block and felt like my shoe was not very tight. I moved close to an SUV so I could hold onto the side and try to fix my shoe. I was only leaning on the side for a mere second when I fell right over on my shoulder while still clipped into the darn bike. The couple that was getting out of this vehicle kept a stern face but I know they must have been pissing their pants when they saw the likes of me. I had to ask them to get my feet out of the darn pedals and that it was okay to laugh because this was pretty darn funny, although those were not the exact choice of words I used. Lol. They immediately were laughing so hard as they tried to get me out of the pedals. At this time, because of a bit of aerobic activity, the effects of the booze tripled its impact and I was toast. They offered to drive me home and place my $50 Schwinn bike in their 95 thousand dollar Mercedes. I declined the offer and managed to get back on my bike and get back into the park.

In the park, I was now going the wrong direction against the other runners and bikers who had reflective clothing blinking annoying lights and head lights on their bikes. You see, it was almost 9pm here in Manhattan and it was pitch black. I came upon a truck re-stocking a restaurant in the park. I did not think that he could not see me and I skidded at the last second and managed to slide around in front of him, through a huge bush which had two people doing very loving or very naughty things. I know this because I crashed right into them. A rather plum-aged old man was yelling at me in Russian and a not so ravishing, topless woman was now standing over me with a clump of newly planted green grass sticking out of her very bad wig, trying to help me up. I did need lots of help at that point. I managed to calm the man down and walked the bike home for the last 1/4 mile. I really could have used Ivan Dragoff at this point. Lol. Wait, come to think of it, he sort of looked like Ivan! Lol.

I got home and opened my backpack to get my keys and do you know what the bleep I found in my pack? A darn pair of slip on loafers. I was too nervous in the beginning to remember them and on the way home probably just too darn tipsy to care. Lol.

Not a very good way to learn for the first time to ride in my bright white and shiny clipless shoes and clipless pedals.

Man Hits Curb - Film at 11:00

                                      Man Hits Curb - Film at 11:00

Damn Pine Needles and Bark  

                                    

 

My frustration supersedes the fact that a race bike going at a speed of 25 mph is better left glued to the pavement, swerving in, out and around people, horse drawn carriages, bikes and other aggravating factors that cause a serious athlete serious chaotic confusion. My ignorant "let's get Mikey to do it" mentality almost cost me my leg as well as any chance of doing the upcoming Mayflower Sprint Triathlon, let alone even finish.

Each time I arrived at this particular area on the lower loop by the old Tavern on the Green, I kept thinking about swinging up and around the children's play area on the hill, then come blasting down around the News van, back across the entrance of the Tavern on the Green and back on my course. My plan was great and would have worked if it had not been for the small, unanticipated pine needles and tree bark that had been matted to the road by the tears of sap mixed with still the morning wash of dew kept alive through the dense shade.

 

                              

A little more background as to why I really needed to gain a bit more of an edge on my speed here in the park. On my 10th lap around the 6 mile loop, I met a very knowledgeable woman on her bike. She was fast and lean. Did I say fast? She was a "girl" and I did not want her to go faster than I was. It was my last 25 miles of 72 which was my downhill training. My downhill training consists of riding as fast as I can down the hill. Simple to do you may think, but the spent energy does not allow you to make it up the next hill without extreme lactate build up. The lactate build up is something that will shut you down quicker than Vito throwing you into that tub of cement he always seems to have on hand in the back yard. Come to think of it, all his friends seem to have access to the same sort of thick mud. It was a good thing I was not concerned about going up the hill. I was just fixated on going down the hill and not stopping until I reached 30 mph each time. The 30 mph was not so hard since on a straight-a-way I can achieve that speed for a straight 7 miles, still working on a total of 12 straight miles of 28 to 33 mph for my race.

This damn woman with her slick bike and fancy outfit was always just out of reach of me and it was really making me madder than a one-legged Jack Rabbit. She was telling me all the things I was doing wrong and you know what? She was always right. It felt like I was riding along side of my ex-wife, God bless her little heart. The ex-wife; not the woman on the bike. Lol The woman on the bike I

was having a vision of sabotaging.

 

                                     .

"Care to have another go at it?" she yelled out from the cockpit of her rocket sled and I said "OK, one more try". So we both approached the Everest of the park. I looked at her and she just as dastardly looked back and then neither one of us bothered to push the other. We strolled up that hill talking and trying to psyche the other out. Got to the top and it was on!

I decided now "how do you make Broke Back Dad go fast?" You give the other person a head start and then Broke Back Dad has a reason. It is called humiliating the opponent and their silly flying rocket sled of a bike and its fancy colors and names on it. So she was off and she was screaming. I knew I could not let her get too far out because she would have torn me a new one with her quick-witted humor. I was gaining on her; then right up against the side of her with flames now coming out of the back of her race bike. She yelled over to me "30 mph", but I could hardly hear her because I flew by her so damn fast that I tore the straps off both pedals. I knew this but I did not know exactly how to do it and stand up at the same time. I was jumping from side to side, like trying to jump right over the top of the bike then slamming down with all my weight on the other pedal. I don't know how fast I was going but she thinks I may have gotten as fast as 40 mph. Whatever the speed it was faster than her. My legs now will not pedal at all and here she comes, drinking and pedaling right past me.

                                

 

"Nothing left?" she yells out. OMG! No she did not! Lol This woman is a riot but she was way too cool to let go. She was so lean and strong looking. Every muscle in her shoulders and back were as taunt as the chain line on a super tanker. Long blond hair flying like a kite tale keeping her on track. I caught up to her and for some reason, she decided to push it. At that point, I thought of taking the short cut. I was getting ready to make my secret move.

 

Shhhh. I was behind her blind spot. She would not know what hit her. My last lap. No way in hell was she going to dominate me. Here it comes. The intersection at the bottom, climb the hill, stay to the left, one beverage and sand dog cart swerve, cut, duck back to the left. Now!! Now!! Take it! Go, go go! And I made the craziest sharp right I had ever dared on this Hobo Bike of mine. I am up flying like the tail wind of a fighter jet. Feeling in the groove coming down the hill. Only 25 more yards. Oh crap! Losing it! Hit something! I am now aiming for the grass. My eyes, if anyone could see, I am sure showed that "Mikey" can't do this one.

 

I hit the curb on a slide. My bike stood straight up. My foot, now with a broken, strapless pedal, went right through the middle of the bike and down I went. I managed to stiff-arm my fall, taking the immense impact through my bowling ball shoulders. Then down I went. As I lay on the ground, I thought "what an idiot", and "all this because I did not want a woman to beat me."

Come on guys, haven't you ever been in that situation before? I really don't care most of the time because I can usually win. I, for the most part, don't do things I am not good at. With this woman: I really could not catch her. She humbled me to the point of "I want to just go home".

The whole ordeal was caught frame by frame, by a local news person that was trying to find just the right location for his shoot. He had his camera on auto and was just blasting frame after frame after frame, like you would with an automatic weapon. Push a button and 20 photos are gone in a blink. Well I came as a blink and was down just as fast. This man followed me to the Great Lawn and told me who he was. He thought I would be interested in these photos. I gave him my email address. He took a few more photos, which at that point was just pissing me off. He asked me to sign a release and I said "no". Then he left. Quite frankly, I did not think I would have ever gotten those pictures on my email.

The lady who is the topic of this blog entry is a world class racer and guess what type of bike she had? Paraplegic racing bike. She was turning the wheels with her hands. She was as old as my mother. Ain't that a bitch?

No strength to even put my darn shirt back on.

I thought to myself "How do I get this body, once it is shutting down, to still produce at optimum level? Where do I go in the mind and how deep will it take to trick the cerebellum into a typical fight or flight mode?" I did it on the bike with great success. I know I can do this with my run. I am now at a level of conditioning that my next body and mind experiment can take place without damage.

Stage #1

Tire out the body so that the level of aggression that is about to be thrown acutely at my legs will be at a bare minimum, thus protecting the integrity of the hips and pelvis that are carrying the load.

 

Stage #2

Swim 80 laps in the pool, which is approximately 1 mile; no time limit, at a pool being 23 meters or 25 yards. This took me an amazing 3 hours. I had to stop several times because the life guard told me to. Bike a quick 25 miles not worried about time. This took me 46 minutes. Beat That!!

Stage #3

Run the bottom loop of Central Park until I cannot possibly lift my legs. My mind needs to be in the "I just want to go home NOW" mode. The park is approximately 1.5 miles in distance. I run at a 10 minute mile pace. 10 minute mile pace is all I have, ever, that is my fastest as well as my slowest speed. It is what it is, until I implement my new experiment. I am so excited to show again all those so called "body mechanics experts" and their degrees and plaques hanging on the wall, what really works. Where are all the fitness magazines getting all their information from? Surely not from ME! Lol The mind is the strongest muscle that we have. To gain control of the mind you will inherently control the body in which it dwells.

I ran 6 miles; puked; then ran 1.5 more; fought with myself to do one more loop. All said and done, I ran 9 miles and did not have a thing left in me. I was ready!!! Where is my homeless man?

Stage #4

A: Hydrate but not as to look pregnant.

B: Nutrition - one peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich cut in the shape of a race bike. Yes, a race bike. I found an inspirational cutout in a cake shop.

C: Look for the homeless man I paid by the grace of the donors from this site that have, out of the goodness of their hearts, sent me money specifically to help with my training.

Stage #5

The rest of the story......

 

Twilight has taken a grip on the park. Humidity, as if being transformed into a tropical rain forest, dwells heavy, grasping at my lungs. My heart is now visible palpitating through the thick muscled skin of my sweat soaked chest. I cannot find my homeless man nor do I care if he shows up at all. The vibrations of the worms, I swear I can feel as they jockey for position toward the twilight of the immense glowing, magnetic moon. "Hey mofo, is that you?" I hear off in the distance. This all to familiar voice is my homeless fellow, Ivan Dragoff. Ivan seems to be a bit tipsy but will do just fine for what I have in store for him. I most likely should have had more security around my employee so that he, not I, would have been also in optimum condition for this critical experiment.

"Good evening Ivan. Please come with me while I unlock that bike over there and get that duffel bag out of the bushes. I am going to have you ride this bike around the bottom loop of this park, while pulling me along behind you. You will not get paid if you stop! You will not get paid if there is any slack in the rope. You will not get paid until I cannot get up off the pavement when I fall. Once I do fall and am not willing to go anymore, then this is where you make your money. Ivan, you then need to get me one complete lap from where I give up back to where I give up. Do you understand, Ivan, how important this is?"

"Yes." Ivan replied.

I did not place Ivan on the bike until I had all my padding on all parts of my body. I looked like a hockey player in Speedos. Quite the sight. I have the padding on because I am intelligent enough to know that my body will probably be tripping and possibly fall. I do not want an injury. Yes, this might seem to be extreme to some of you but for me, it just makes perfect sense. Ivan is now on the bike and I have a weight belt around my middle and a rope tied in a bowline knot so Ivan cannot untie me and steal my bike. I don't think Ivan could untie a bow if I only did that. We set off and I actually kept up for the next three miles. I attribute this to the rather long 30 minute rest I had. I was coming up on my 4th mile and all of a sudden, my legs did not want to move. I knew they could move but my mind said "ENOUGH"! And it was very loud and clear. Ivan, that bastardo, did not stop and at that point I had to move or get dragged back to square one on my face. I was now puking as I ran but all of a sudden, a euphoric and quite overwhelming sensation came drowning my body with all sorts of vibrations that I almost felt like I was floating. Probably was hallucinating because if this is not the stupidest thing I have ever done then it is pretty darn close to it. Lol I started to run past Ivan so much that if I ran any faster, I would have turned him around since I was tied to the back of the bike. This was the motor response I was looking for in my mind. The synapses that were firing off were now in the fight or flight mode. The "run or have your body ground into the asphalt" mode has been achieved. Oh and the milk crate was not there. If it was, Ivan would have had a keg in it with a siphon tube. Ivan kept yelling at me saying "Mofo. If you don't let me pull you, do I still get paid?" I was cracking up and so were the cops that had been riding along side of us pretending to be oblivious to the whole ordeal. I slowed down and started to enjoy the kiss of the full moon seemingly with its protection of Ivan and myself as we made history in Central Park of Manhattan on the 23rd night of a very suffocating evening, here in July.

Back up bike on a morning ride

Friday, July 23, 2010

Back up bike on a morning ride

Central Park Reservoir

Central Park Reservoir

The Simple Magic of Body Rest

The Simple Magic of Body Rest

Today I took a taxi for the first time in two years. My taxi ride was not because the underground "limo service" subway is a sweltering, sweaty, smelly, people clustered web of madness. It is also not because I needed to be somewhere really fast because I never need to be somewhere ever really fast. I am really never in a hurry to go anywhere. Life, if caressed properly, will always allow you sufficient time to do just about anything. My taxi ride was because my legs would not work today. My knees were screaming at me to lay off. I have never felt so destroyed in all my life. I also am a cheap son of a gun and would rather die before I had to use a taxi.

Today, a few more steps and I would have collapsed. Hell, the subterranean railroad I can handle. I just carry two or three shirts, a bottle of aftershave for my Portagy shower and I am good to go. I am as fresh as the next smelly city dweller next to me. But, not that guy with both arms up over his head with the death grip on the overhead railing. Oh, and did I mention that he had hair in his armpits that was longer than the dog on the leash next to him? I know, gross right? Lol Not to mention it looked just like Willie Nelson on a good day, in the rain... oooooo

A taxi, me? Oh no you did not. Well that tells me I need to back the heck off. I always seem to get carried away with things. Have you ever gone over 100 mph in a car that should really only be going 35 mph? Well, there you have it. This car, for today is all show and not an ounce of go.

So, off to the beach was in the cards for me and not just any beach, but the clothes less worn beach. Or the clothing optional beach if you prefer. Have you ever been to a clothes less worn beach? In the upper east coast? It is not pretty, but if you are training for a triathlon and need a boost in feeling great as all get out about yourself while your insides only know the reality of your existence, then do I have a spot for you!