This is Kim Kraan gliding through the sunset. Click on the image for a desktop friendly version.

Thoughts to contemplate in Chris’ T-shirt, early in the morning, as the muscles loosen up & the day begins with some fast laps on the frozen hamster wheel.

For many years, when it comes to short track I used to agree with Ashley’s t-shirt though-

Short track always seemed like you had to be nuts to do it.

Maybe it is. But in my first few seasons I had neither the proper equipment nor the hip strength & stability to skate safely. Now I have both, and & even though I am far from an expert, for moments it now feels more like Andrea’s t-shirt.

(this is from the coolest t-shirt company on the planet- Threadless.com)

It’s still dangerous though, as I narrowly missed a potentially nasty crash on this day. But now there is control & fantastic moments to be felt & seen.

Like Robert Lawrence leading the group here. Robert’s skating so strong right now, coach Kooreman had him lead several 25 lap sets. Ouch.

I don’t have a helmet cam, but someday hope to, and I will send pictures of what it feels like to be in this agile & eternal turn.

Till then, this is the closest I can get. A group this size creates a sizeable wind blast as they rip by.

Skating circles & circles & circles on that frozen hamster wheel.

Your perspective within the circle often changes because of other circles.

Like this tungsten wedding ring newly worn on the hand of sprint LT national team member Chris Needham.

Congrats Chris!!

Maybe short track will always truly be a sport for the young and fearless, those who have not gone headfirst into the wall too many times, Chris himself transitioned to long track because of severe short track injuries.

However on those moments when you lean over, touch your hand to the ice, defy normal physics, and rip around that turn, it’s a rush like nothing else.

(note to self: remember- you can’t lean over that far when cornering hard on a bike…)

but for some, weird, irrational, psycho-driven reason, I do.

45 minutes later, coffee in hand, my car murmuring down the highway, the sunrise over the Wasatch hits me like a hammer….

Is this is why?

or maybe it’s that after 3 months away from the ice, I just had to get back, to put blade to ice; to again feel this:

I usually associate summer training with hill running, lifting, dryland, and sunblock/sweat mixing into a goop thick enough to leave a snail smear across anything touched

I’ve never really done much summer short track, but for those who do, I imagine that the unique sound of blades crunching during early mornings, steel chewing through soft ice corners, this “morning crunch” becomes the sound of summer.

Such choices, hill running or short track?

or other choices like Gasoline or Gatorade for your morning beverage?

(I am not sure who uses this gas can for their water bottle, but I thought it was hilarious.)

Here is Cory Williams, a typical member of the international skate tribe in Salt Lake. He is Australian, but is aiming to race the world cup circuit for New Zealand.

He just arrived in Salt Lake, and was skating all morning with a big grin on his face, hoping to get stronger & skate the world cup this winter.

I was smiling too. I’ve simply forgotten how much fun short track can be. I felt surprisingly good, and did some relays in the big group that were simply wonderful corner-bombing fun.

And as I was leaving, (my warmdown a fast jog to my car to get to work on time), I noted the various long track teams, all collecting for dryland.

And the morning light slanting across the empty concrete that will be ice in about a month.

I can’t wait for more morning crunch.

Ryan has long been known as a short tracker, but last year at LT nationals, he finished 6th in the 5k. He went suddenly from being on the National ST team to skating the 10k at the Hamar LT world cup.

There needs to be a word for this, for folks who go back and forth like Trevor Marsicano, Shani Davis, and Ryan. A word that signifies how hard this is to do, even though there seem to be great benefits.

Actually, US skaters of prior generations did tons of short track, with LT being a brief 6 week window of midwinter outdoor racing. Maybe the recent generation has made a great unintentional error in separating the two disciplines.

When I was looking at the list of registered athletes for today’s Sugarhouse criterium bicycle race, there was Ryan on the registration list. Very cool. So maybe there is a new word needed for this as well? Spdscylaterist?

Sugarhouse is a hard race, with 2 hills that when taken repeatedly at race pace, hurt a lot.

It’s a course with such variety, it does not favor any particular kind of rider. It’s a beautiful, sweeping place for a bike race.

Ryan is scary strong on the bike, and about halfway through he got into a breakaway with 2 other riders from the Spin and Canyon cycling teams. Here is Ryan leading on the climb.

I saw this, moved to the front and did a long pull at the head of the pack contributing to the chase. Not because of Ryan neccesarily, but the Spin team races very smart, tactically, and has the strong riders to win races in many ways (note the one on my wheel).

But even when you are strong, this course can hurt. Speedskating takes a lot of mental strength, and so does cycling. Here are two of the Spin guys. Good fellows too.

I felt strong & smooth for the first half hour of the race, but the last 15 minutes of hauling my 195lbs up the hills hurt a good deal.

As the bell was ringing for the final lap, even though the speed was high, it was quite a slamfest for good position, with lots of handlebars banging around.

Somewhere in this maelstrom, two riders slipped away. With my heart machine-gunning along in the high 190’s I did not see the move go.

Final time up the hill, here is the winner cranking away, pain & pleasure mixing together.

Behind him the field sprint is boiling across the road like a pot of boiling water. The cyclists like noodles fighting to stay on top of the froth. A surge up the side of the road & I go from 3rd to 11th place in an instant.

Ryan leads it out, dang he has a motor!

Thanks for Jess for filming, she was cheering so hard, the camera was bouncing, but she caught this moment right before the line. Ryan won the field sprint, 3rd place overall, and I managed to claw back a few places to finish 7th.

But the great thing is, after a race, no matter how you have placed, no matter if it’s Le Tour, or just a local crit with a cool trophy, no matter if you are national team or not, at the end of the day, to your dog, you are still the same guy.

And loved with the intensity & loyalty only a good dog can give. The only difference is that you taste better because you are salty.

1. change of physical form: a complete or marked change of physical form, structure, or substance: the overnight metamorphosis of the pond water into ice
2. change of appearance or character: a complete or marked change in appearance, character, or condition
3. supposed supernatural transformation: a transformation caused by supposed supernatural powers
4. transformed person or thing: somebody or something that has gone through a complete or marked change
5. zoology change in animal form: a complete or marked change in the form of an animal as it develops into an adult, e.g. the change from tadpole to frog or from caterpillar to butterfly

This is the metamorphosis that my boots go through, twice a year.

I like definitions #1 and #3, it’s been so nice to be gliding along again.

I’m not sure I will be doing any inline races this year. There are no races I know of planned for Salt Lake, and when I can race my bike 3 times a week within easy riding distance, it feels selfish to consider a 10 hour drive, or flying to get my competition fix.

And I am profoundly sad to have come to that conclusion, and the following idea:

Will continued high gas prices, leading to vastly more expensive travel, have damaging long term consequences to a sport that requires frequent travel?

I don’t really want to know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl. I want to be surprised as parents have been for eons. However I think my medically trained wife might have figured it out during this ultrasound visit.

8:38pm

It’s been two and a half months since I’ve been on skates, and even though this was just a Friday night skate ambling, I am going to be quite sore.

Cycling muscles are good things, but there is a whole other set of lateral stability & static effort contractors that are skate specific. I can feel every one of them right now. Jess was along for the skate. All the books we are reading say keep doing what you were doing before pregnancy.

A couple of new faces from the local Salt City Roller Derby Girls made this night quite fun, here is Nico Noir (her derby pseudonym) rolling through the sunset.

Sometimes what you see in this world is radically shaped by what direction the light is coming from, who you are around, what you get positive feedback from. Sometimes multiple lights cast multiple shadows.

It’s nice to be back on the skates. I like that light. A bike is fun, fast, but skates are flight & freedom.

But pain… seems to me an insufficient reason not to embrace life.

Question is, what glorious moments can you win from life in addition to the pain?

-Lois McMaster Bujold

I am not so sure about glory while pursing one of the minor sports, but I am sure that you can find meaning, and certainly pain is quite easy to find. In bucketfulls actually.

I’ve been racing bikes a lot recently, and in the race I did tonight, all I saw for the entire race (& I made the decisive breakaway) was this-

Just a wheel driving in front of me- Literally, for the whole race, All I could manage was focusing on the gears & legs driving relentlessly onward.

It was tunnel vison, a long dark tunnel dripping with lactic acid…

It was all I could do to barely hang on to the insane pace of the 13 man breakaway, and do my turn when it was my turn to pull, That light at the end of the tunnel was a ragged, leg searing, ugly sprint. I was 4th or 5th, my memory of it is somewhat broken.

When I got home from racing, I was shaking with exhaustion, I had some dishes to do in the kitchen, and each plate felt heavy like a 45 lb plate in the gym.

I’ve thought a bit in the last few week of taking a break from blogging, or even shutting the blog down.

I’ve just been overwhelmed, work & training have built up into a toxic cocktail. I really try to post every 2 or 3 days, which has always been my mantra.

But I’ve only posted 4 times this month, I have lots of stuff half done… Bleah…

Usually I have a bit of a downturn in the spring, but this feels like a nosedive. By nature & nurtue, I’m a pretty energetic fellow, but right now I’m just so, so tired….

Brain Boudreau, whose freaky-strong legs are the ones in the above photo, has been bike racing too, and this past week is now back on the short track.

Either I need a break, or I need to get back on my skates, or.. I don’t know…..

Crudzilla..… Even though this is just a non-competitive ride, I feel fantastic, and want to ride smooth & fast with the strong folks in the very front group. I’m pretty much last right now

So as the main mass of cyclists is ambling along gently in the morning sun, chatting and in no great hurry. I pull out of the main stream, stick it in a big gear, and start ripping along, passing hundreds a minute, in pursuit of the front.

I like to ride/train with folks who are better than I am, as it pushes me to become better.

I’ve learned over the years that getting the tar beaten out of you “when it doesn’t count” is a very good thing, as it makes you a tougher for when it really matters.

Last year I had an amazing time at this event, riding in probably the 3rd big group on the road. I cracked like an egg about 60 miles in. I’m feeling far stronger this year, and I want to ride at the front & get cracked again, not in the flat pedal crowd who have no intention of riding the whole hundred miles.

I can tell from the first moment I start pushing hard, I am going to have a “no chain” kind of day.

I wonder for a few moments what people are thinking, as I rip by on the outside of the massive stream of cyclists at almost double their speed. But I am so intent on what I want, I leave a wide berth, & pay minimal heed.

After a few quick miles, I can see the lead motorcycle, and the bunched front group. I smile with relief, sit up with no hands & take this picture.

And at that exact moment, hear a hubris laden, PSSSSSSSSSTTTTTT!!!

Yeah, a flat.

I swear quite loudly, slow down, & dismount to fix it as the group disappears down the road. I open my spare tube, and realized I have packed the wrong one, I need the long valve stem tube for my tall aero rims, and I’ve brought the flat kit with only a short valve tube.

So I’m screwed… CRAP!! I am embarrassingly angry with myself. I might be done & have to call jessica to come pick me up.

So I sit, for maybe 20 minutes, messing around with my patch kit. Watching 2,000+ people pedal past me. I bet quite a few noted me on the side of the road with smug satisfaction, and I deserve every bit of it.

I finally get the tube fixed, just as several good-hearted volunteers, like Dean, and several folks from Bingham’s Cyclery show up with a floor pump & tubes. Fully prepared for an idiot like me.

So back on the road again, and angry at myself, I try repeating and repeating what I wrote yesterday.

A hard-traveling man said to me
That you don’t have to finish first
But you must know how to finish.

So even if I ride this whole damm thing alone, with my nose in the wind every step of the way. I will finish this. Dammit.

I ride with anger for about 10 miles, but it slowly wears off, and I start opening my eyes to the wonderful morning, and the fact that I am still feeling great. Also, I’ve never been in this part of a big group ride, within that “flat pedal crowd” I snobbily derided earlier.

I pass groups of women whom I overhear discussing t-ball registration as they spin along, I see sets of calves with so many wrinkles, or so much cellulite, that there is no muscle visible. But dammit, their pedals are driving around and they are enjoying the day as much as I am.

It’s so hard, and so essential, for accomplished athletes to stop and appreciate the struggles of those for whom the 34 mile route option might be ten times as challenging and scary as the hundred mile ride.

Spinning the 53-17 along in the morning sun, I began to feel so grateful, so alive, so blessed that I can feel those sensations of the body working well.

How many sick people, stuck in hospitals or hospices, or in any of the man-made hellholes this world is full of, would give anything to be out here on the road, under the mountains, free as the whirr of gears.

I wish my father was here riding with me, I could talk with him about this, he gets this kind of stuff.

(and mom deserves mention too.. she is the reason I am driven to spin that big ring for miles & miles, if mom were here, we’d probably just hammer)

I slowly pass through various strata of riders, like geological layers of rock. Equipment changes & the speed of the groups I am passing through slowly changes.

There was a notable band/level of rider where there were lots of humorous jerseys.

Why are racer types so dang serious so much of the time? Would I smile more often if I wore a Super Grover or Curious George jersey? Hmmm maybe not, but I’d wear this.

But my reverie was broken by the WHIZZZZZZ of a 4 racers in a fast paceline bulleting by me on my left.

Aha! I hop in, and within a few seconds am back in the familiar push & lined out effort of pack dynamics. Spining the 17 becomes spinning the 15.

There are many layers of meaning in riding alone, just you & the wind, and also there is meaning in riding with others, and working together to simply fly.

The guys were named Ivan, Andrew, Rick & Mike. They also had been delayed by flat trouble and I would spend the next 70 miles working with them, driving across the miles.

Our intent little paceline starts to grow, reaching 15-20 at times, but over and over, it get back to just the essential 5.

It’s been such a reluctant spring, so as today’s temperatures started touching 90 everyone was in a great mood.

I’ve ridden all over the USA, but the Antelope Island causeway is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever turned a gear. I was much happier crossing it without the dehydration bonk I had at about this spot last year.

(insert the the smell-o-meter of rotting stuff in saltwater here)

With about 30 miles to go, we take a break, and I practically dive headfirst into this bowl of fruit at a rest station..

And oddly enough, the bowl of candy seemed repulsive, they looked as tasty as christmas ornaments.

I lose myself in the color of the western skies, the roll of the land, and how you can feel every inch of it on the bicycle, and suddenly, it’s almost over, at mile 98 I start to feel that crumbly hollowness, that I am at the end of my physical rope. Mission accomplished!

Here is Rick driving the pace. That man can drive a gear! It’s funny, he is good freinds with several other speedskaters.

The ride started so alone, so angry & full of that toxic/intoxicating cocktail of a competitive nature. Once I let that go, the ride finished with some new friends.

There is a lesson in this.

And here is another lesson, Dear Bro, I am as dumb as you are, just more creative about it..

For some reason, I put loads of sunblock on my legs & neck & face. But forgot my arms.

Dumb dumb dumb.

I’ve got so many posts & zen-10 interviews half-done, and a major series of posts on “training habits” I’ve been wanting to launch for about a year.

But I lack that extra bit of mustard necessary to finish & publish… Forgive me..

Also I’ve been riding a lot. The bicycle has sucked me in like that lovely corner diner in your hometown where you can get that perfect Cheeseburger & Milkshake.

Of course the great thing is that when you ride a lot, you can get away making more visits to that corner diner.

This image is shot while riding to work during yesterday’s “bike to work” day with a bunch of friends.

Tomorrow I ride the Salt Lake Century again, 100 miles, and it’s finally going to be HOT. One of my favorite posts I have ever written was about this ride last year.

I like it not just because of what I wrote, but that every member of my family, including my grandad, had something to say about it

This image is from that post, about 24 hours from when I click this “publish button” this is the school of fish I will be swimming in.

In the park across from my house, there are live bands playing all the time. On a lovely spring evening, these words were floating in the breeze

Una piedra en el camino
Me enseno que mi destino.
Era rodar y rodar.
(Rodar y rodar, rodar y rodar)

Tambien me dijo un arriero
Que no hay que llegar primero
Pero hay que saber llegar.

My friend Eric Krann was listening intently, misty eyed and with a glass of wine in his hand. I asked him to translate-

A stone on the road showed me that my destiny.
was to roll and to roll.
To roll and to roll, to roll and to roll.

A hard-traveling man said to me
That you don’t have to finish first
But you must know how to finish.

Vicente Fernandez - El Rey

Eric says that spanish speaking athletes will sometimes quote the end of this song to not only explain how a race went, but also to explain life.

A century ride attracts a wonderful blend of folks, from very serious riders to easygoing tourists.

No placings, no result list, just a bunch of rolling stones who know how to finish.

no matter what the cup says, this is not really a big glass of chocolate, but that is an intriguing possibility.

I’ve been quiet on the blog, deepest apologies….

I’ve been just about 20% sick, 20% overworked, 20% training-tired, 40% overwhelmed with housework, and pushed over the emotional edge by some recent entries on one of the best blogs I’ve ever read.

The Fat Cyclist has won several awards, inspired a lot of people, and his recent entry Dandelion Seeds is the only time in my life I have openly wept reading something online.

And it’s going get worse, be worse, and not get any better…

It’s one of those situations where it would be so comforting to be able to say/write to someone “I’m praying for you“, because that is the exact sentiment needed; an appeal to the cruel wheels of time & fate.

But if you don’t believe in prayer, what do you say? to them, or to yourself if you were in their shoes?

What do you do when all you have is that reflection of oil & sky in coffee-multiplied alertness?