Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 17-18

July 23 / July 25

I was really liking the variety of my newly created Curly Q route, so I repeated it for my next two rides. The GPS tracking for Runkeeper (the iPhone app I use to track my rides) got all jacked up on July 23, so I can't really address my splits and overall times, but there's definitely something worth mentioning from that particular ride.

I live in Valencia, CA, which was obliterated in Season 6 of the show 24. It's also where Seasons 1-3 of Weeds were filmed, so you may have seen where I live but just didn't know it. Anyway, Valencia is a suburb of Los Angeles, and despite the fact that the city and surrounding area is home to more than 160,000 residents, there's still a lot of undeveloped land and the wildlife that comes with it.

So on the night of July 23, I was on another Curly Q ride. This route follows McBean to its end, then turns onto a street that is residential on one side and undistrubed wilderness on the other (Copper Hill Drive). So I'm following Holy Crap Hill up and around, and I see two mid-sized dogs going for a walk -- by themselves. It looked like they were just a friendly couple out enjoying a leisurely stroll on this warm summer evening.

I didn't want to scare this canine couple and watch helplessly as they got spooked and ran right into traffic. So I slowed down and approached cautiously, figuring I'd give them the "kissy" sound to let them know I came in peace. As I approached, I noticed they froze and were in the "fight or flight" stance. So I slowed to a crawl, and this is when I came to a startling realization.

These weren't dogs at all -- they were giant raccoons! And they looked pissed. As we locked eyes, I thought to myself, "You were a Boy Scout. What do you do when you encounter wild raccoons?" Before I could even answer, one of the masked marauders jumped into the bushes and the other one took off running.

Now I found myself unwillingly chasing a raccoon while yelling, "Dude, just jump to the left. Stop running!" The combination of adrenaline and the fact that I'm five times bigger meant I was gaining on this critter fast. And now I was worried about me darting into traffic to avoid a confrontation. Thankfully, before I veered hard to the right (which, as you know, I'm prone to doing) and found myself playing chicken with oncoming traffic, the raccoon spotted a small tree on the left and made a desperate leap, grabbing onto it as I flew by.

Unfortunately, I'll never know what effect the added surge of adrenaline had, since the aforementioned iPhone app went a little cuckoo and didn't record my ride properly. But I do know that my ride on July 21, this one and my subsequent ride on July 25 were identical distances. And the time difference between the rides on the 21st and 25th was 3 seconds, so I'm guessing this ride was on par with the other two (seeing what a consistent emmer effer I am). And with a pace of 4:41, I once again raised the bar for myself and had a good "raccoons while riding" story.

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 16

July 21

After last week's solid showing (if I may say so myself), it was time to increase my distance once again (in sticking to my Training Plan). For this week the goal was to hit the 9-mile mark three times, which I figured wouldn't be a problem based on the 8.2 miles I made on my last ride.

I found the Crazy 8's route to be a good, non-repeating mix of ascents, descents and a variety of nice scenery (I'll post some pictures to prove it. Someday). So in order to reach the 9-mie threshold, I basically just added a curly-q toward the end of the ride, which would come up right after my assualt on Hell Hill. The best part of it was that I would actually get a little bit of downhill action on HH, which would be a nice change of pace!

As this ride progressed, I appeared to be on a record pace (I was riding at around 4:25 seconds per mile, which would be more than 20 seconds faster than my previous best). And then I ran into the ugliest, most evil curly-q you can imagine. OK, that might be overstating it a bit (I heard there are some pretty nasty curly-q's in some of the rougher areas of Dublin), but I wasn't really prepared. I faced what looked like an 85-degree incline -- I'm pretty sure I saw a parked car whose wheels weren't curbed sliding past me -- and it was a nasty slap in the face as I slooooowwwwly approached the 8-mile mark up this bastard. I think I even got passed by a 300-pound guy who was walking up the hill ... backwards.

Once I reached the top of this cruel joke, I was able to reap the rewards and made up some time with a nice downhill jaunt, which looped around and dropped my back off at the top of Hell Hill. I had built up some momentum and I was almost halfway up the final hill before I really had to start churning again.

All told, I made it home in one piece (woo-hoo! that's like 7 rides in a row with no road rash) and ended up with, once again, a new personal best for distance (9.14 miles) and pace (4:41/mile). I was way off my goal pace, but I had completed a ride that went beyond the traithlon's halfway point. Nice.

Malibu Triathlon Training: Days 13-15

July 13, 15, 19

My next three rides were identical in distance and nearly identical in total time/pace. I devised a new route to keep pace with my training plan, which called for a week of 7.5-mile rides. Despite the fact that the actual triathlon I'll be riding in is an "out-and-back" route, I'm not a huge fan of those types of loops. I don't know why. I'm just not. Whether that will come back to bite me in the ass or not is unknown, but so far I've managed to keep things interesting by keeping my routes "up-and-around" (as opposed to "out-and-back," for those who like the obvious pointed out to them).

One look at the map tells you why I call this particular loop the Crazy 8's (I know the apostrophe doesn't belong there, it just looks better ... OK?!). This one takes me up and around the two major streets I frequent on two wheels, but instead of turning off of McBean Parkway, I take it all the way to where it ends (I think I would fall off the face of the Earth if I kept going, but I'm not gonna find out) and then take a left onto Copper Hill Drive (AKA Holy Crap Hill).

Following Copper Hill on a slight incline, I loop back down to Decoro, which starts as a nice, long downhill boost and then quickly becomes Hell Hill. All told, the route is anywhere from 7.6 to 8.2 miles, depending on how many side-street "pit stops" (actually, they're not really stops, just flat terrain that allows me to douse some water on the flames in my lungs) I make along the way.

For reference purposes, here are the vitals from July 13 and July 15:

July 13

Distance: 7.60 miles

Time: 37:27

Avg. Pace: 4:56

Avg. Speed: 12.18 mph

July 15

Distance: 7.98 miles

Time: 39:18

Avg. Pace: 4:55

Avg. Speed: 12.18 mph

Look at what a consistent motherfucker I am! Two difference distances, but average pace is nearly identical and speed is identical. I don't know if there's a market for incredibly consistent bike riding skills, but I'm the Tiger Woods of that shit.

Anyway, something happened on July 19. I don't know why, I don't know how. I just know that I went farther and faster than I ever had up to this point: 8.22 miles in 39 minutes. That worked out to a pace of 4:45, a 10-second improvement over my ride on July 15. It could have been due to having more energy that night, or a more consistent cadence in my pedaling, or maybe it was just being more familiar with the route and knowing when to conserve my energy. Either way, it was another big step for me on the way to 18 miles!

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 12

July 9

My last ride was a bit of a fluke. I was intending to only go 6 miles, which is what my training plan told me to do (my training plan is very persuasive), but I somehow ended up breaking the 7-mile barrier and pissing off my quads and lungs. So today it was time to get back to reality with a more solidified plan and a simple route.

Tonight's route was a variation of the loop I took on the night of The Crash. Instead of getting my ass kicked by Holy Crap Hill, I only gave it a taste of my misery and turned onto the first street after the initial ascent. And I have to say, it felt really good to say, "Ha! Go fuck yourself!" to a plot of land. I just wish I had yelled it at the top of my lungs instead of mumbling it to myself. But I'm classy like that.

I ran into a little bit of trouble going up Dickason Drive, mostly because this was only my second time riding up this street and I wasn't sure what to expect. But I didn't slow down too much between Miles 4 and 5, and I was able to tackle Hell Hill (with my usual side-street pit stops) and was almost perfectly accurate on my routing: 6.02 miles.

While this was a pretty uneventful ride -- no wrong turns, no rabid dogs, no losing battles with gravity -- it was noteworthy, as I once again lowered my pace all the way down to 4:50. I've still got a long way to go to hit my goal (4:00-minute miles) but this was a big step in the right direction.

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 11: Cujo

July 6
After my stint on the DL and a cautious ride on my first day back, I decided that Day 11 was a day to step it up and get back on track. There's something motivational about looking at that countdown clock over there on the right and I felt that, despite logging one of my best rides last time out, I needed to make up for the days I missed.

With that in mind, I plotted out a new route that was basically a shortened version of the loop I followed on The Crash ride, minus the unrelenting ascent of Holy Crap Hill. As usual, I flew down the first leg of the loop, which features a fun 5% downgrade that lets me approach 40 mph, depending on how Knievel-ish I'm feeling (still feeling a little shaky from The Crash, I topped out at 31 mph on this night). At the bottom of the hill, I turned the afterburners off and continued to the large intersection that features 30-second red lights. Whether it was impatience or my subconscious trying to avoid the memory of The Crash, I decided that I didn't want to wait for a green light, so I turned up the main drag and decided to improvise a little bit.

I went up about a mile, took a left, and headed toward HCH (that's Holy Crap Hill). But this time, I was attacking it from the top side, so at least I knew my lungs weren't going to explode tonight. In fact, I was gonna make HCH my bitch, because I know how gravity works and that going downhill is a lot easier than going uphill. Bitch!

So anyway, I'm going about my business and starting my descent of Holy Crap Hill, and I'm (sadly) feeling pretty good about myself after outsmarting the topography of the Earth. Then, about halfway down the hill, I glance up ahead and see a couple walking their dog. "No problem," I think to myself. "This sidewalk is nice and wide, and it's meant to be shared by pedestrians and bikes."

As a courtesy, I slowed down as I approached the dog walkers so I won't startle anyone. The next thing I know, as I'm passing them and the dog jumps up at me. Now, the details are a little sketchy because of the glare from a streetlight above, but that dog was either frothing at the mouth, baring razor-sharp teeth and glaring at me with blood-red eyes or merely nipping at my heels. I'm not 100% sure which. Needless to say, I was pissed. I had gone as far to the right as I was able, and this a-hole didn't even have the decency to shorten his devil dog's leash for 2 seconds. So naturally, as I sped away I looked back and yelled, "Control your dog. Jesus!" And this was significant. Not because I gave that dude a piece of my mind, but because I was able to look behind me and then look forward again -- without crashing!

The next 2 miles were a long, relatively flat section of wide road, so I picked up the pace and was able to score two sub-5 minutes splits (which is pretty good, considering my average pace overall is right around the 5-minute/mile mark). Unfortunately, my triumph was short lived, because reality has a way of bitch slapping you when you're not paying attention. Despite the fact that I taught Holy Crap Hill a lesson in gravity just 15 minutes earlier, I forgot that what goes up must come down. Or, in my case, what rides down the hill at 31 mph much ride UP the hill. And probably a lot more slowly.

That's right -- HCH was about to be introduced to the new sheriff in town, Hiilsborough Parkway (heretofore known as "Hellsborough," of course). While HCH features an elevation change of 160 vertical feet, Hellsborough touts a variation of 185 vertical feet. To add injury to insult, I had already surpassed the 6-mile mark at this point, meaning I had already set a new personal record for distance, and I still had another mile to go that started to look like it was straight uphill.

Needless to say, my quadriceps were pissed when I told them what was about to happen. And my lungs weren't exactly thrilled, either. I got about 1/3 of the way up the hill when said muscles and organs decided to organize and went on strike. I was in no position to argue, so I stopped. God dammit, I stopped! Oh, the humanity!

After convincing my quads and lungs to agree to my terms, we all decided it was best for everyone if we just moved on. So I did. And eventually, I made it to the top of the hill, back onto my street and up the driveway, where my body and I celebrated our longest ride to date (7.16 miles).

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 10: Back in the Saddle

July 4

OK, so my last ride was great until the last 10 yards. Check that ... Even with The Crash it was still a decent training session, if only for the increase in distance. But the glory of a new personal record was quickly quelled by the injuries I sustained in said crash. More specifically, one injury that I didn't really address last time kept me from being overly excited.

While the road rash on my arm, hand and knee and bruise on the thigh mostly just added some color to my normally pinkish hue, it was the shot to the ribs I took from my sucker-punching handlebars that was keeping from doing important things. Like breathing. I had never broken a rib before, but I've always heard the most identifiable symptom is extreme pain when taking in a breath. It did hurt to take in a really deep breath, so my dream of being a professional freediver would have to be put on hold, but regular breathing wasn't a problem so I was pretty sure I didn't need a trip to the doctor. Sleeping did pose a bit of a problem, and doing things like getting up from a sitting position hurt like a bitch, but I figured sleep and sitting are overrated anyway.

So in the interest of my long-term goal, I put myself on the 5-Day Disabled List (which is rarely used in pro sports), retroactive to June 28th. Which meant on July 4th I was cleared to take the bike out again.

After a 5-day layoff and a busted-up rib, I didn't want to push myself too hard and have to go on the 7- or 9-Day DL. And on top of that, I was heading out for a daytime ride (the temperature routinely gets into the high 90s during the summer in Valencia), so I decided to take it easy.

For this ride I went old-school, following my 4.2-mile loop from a couple weeks ago. Despite not wanting to push myself too hard, I somehow ended up with a run that equaled my personal best for Average Pace. More importantly, while I was riding I didn't even feel my ribs. OK, wait, I felt my ribs but they didn't hurt, and that is what surprised me the most. I even went out that night and was the pyrotechnician at the

Pookies' 4th of July Extravaganza!

Of course, I woke up the next day and could barely stand up straight, but I didn't care. I was back in the saddle and continuing on my quest for the 18-mile mark.

No Score and Seven Years Ago ...

Approximately 3,682,080 minutes ago, I made a really, really good decision.

Every minute better than the last.

Happy anniversary, baby!

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 9 (Part 2): The Crash

OK, yesterday I was at the end of my longest ride yet (5.83 miles), and as I approached my house I reached into my pocket to pull my iPhone out. I thought I felt something fall out of my pocket, so I turned my head to look behind me....

I didn't see anything behind me, but when I faced forward I did see something in front of me: a motorcycle trailer parked on the street. But this wasn't some ordinary, garden-variety motorcycle trailer. This one happened to be right in my path, and it was closing on me fast. All I had time to do was slam on the brakes, veer hard to the right and let out an I-know-what's-about-to-happen "Fuck!"

I missed the trailer, but I swear I heard it snickering as I went ass over tea kettle, taking a shot to the left ribs from my handlebars and using -- well, I don't know the technical term for it, so I'll just say my right aftarm (opposite of forearm) and shoulder as landing gear. And no, my right aftarm and shoulder do NOT have wheels on them.

For the first time in my life, I had gone endo, but thankfully my only audience was the motorcycle trailer. I had to protect my rep, so I quickly hopped up, picked up my bike and casually walked up my driveway and into the garage.

Before I continue, there's something you need to know about my wife, Liz: she can't look at blood. Actually, she can't even be in the same room as blood. One time, when Dash was about 6 months old, I got home from work first and was starting to get dinner ready. I sliced my finger on a chef's knife and was bleeding profusely, but I couldn't drive myself to the ER because I wasn't able to load Dash's car seat into my car. So I stood there and bled, holding my finger under cold, running water until Liz got home. She wrapped my finger in some gauze, took me to the ER, sat with me in the waiting room and drove me home 3 hours (and 5 stitches) later -- without ever seeing the wound.

So you can see, I had a dilemma. I knew I needed to tend to my wounds (I also had a little road rash on my right hand and right knee), but I also knew she'd want to know how my ride went. I decided full disclosure was the best policy and showed her my injuries. Despite her feelings about blood, she cleaned up the aftarm, knee and hand, greased my scrapes with Neosporin and dressed my wounds like she had been doing it her whole life. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything she could do for the bruise that developed on my outer thigh a few days later.

Oh yeah, my ride. I ended up with a new distance record (by .03 miles), but my pace was skewed by my spill and subsequent delay in stopping the timer. Speaking of which, after thinking back and recreating the crash in my head, I came to realize I had used my body as a human shield, protecting my precious iPhone from damage and preserving my riding metrics. How's that for commitment?!

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 9 (Part 1): Prelude to a Crash

June 28
While my last ride was successful in terms of distance and pace, I actually felt I was in a little over my head. The semi-circle that had usurped the Hell Hill title from the newly dubbed Son of Hell Hill was a little more than I was ready to handle -- especially at the end of a ride -- on a consistent basis.

So on this night I decided to simplify things and just made my loop a little wider than before. I felt good about this new loop, as I was familiar with the route I had mapped out and knew I'd have the "doublewide" sidewalk with accompanying bike lane. With my newest friend, MapMyRide.com, I was able to do some recon and determined that this was a 5.5-mile route, which was perfect.

Knowing I would be avoiding Hell Hill on this ride, I lost the plot a little bit and started out with a little too much gusto. On my previous ride, my 3-mile time was 13:00 but tonight I hit the 3-mile mark at 11:52 -- more than 20 seconds per mile faster. Of course, I didn't know the actual time differential at that moment, but I had sensed I was pushing a little harder than usual.

This was made abundantly clear to me when I turned up a street called Copper Hill Drive, which will heretofore be referred to as "Holy Crap Hill Drive." This beast made Hell Hill look like a short ramp, and Son of Hell Hill? A driveway. So not only had I worn myself out by this point, I had worn myself out and felt like I was on a stationary bike -- all effort and no forward progress.

Determined, I forged ahead, mostly keeping my head down so I couldn't see how slowly I was creeping up the hill. After what felt like 20 minutes, I looked up and saw redemption: a traffic light. I had done it! I had faced the most challenging hill yet and scaled it in one continuous, furious, pedaling marathon!

But I hadn't. In fact, I wasn't even halfway up Holy Crap Hill. It was merely a trick of the brain, coupled with a cruel joke played on me by the civil engineers who had planted that light there to mess with my psyche. At this point, I felt utterly defeated. If you do the math on the map, you'll see I started my ride at 9:09 pm and finished at 9:42 pm, a total of 33 minutes. Upon closer inspection, you'll notice my total duration was 30:29, which means there were about 2.5 minutes that were unaccounted for.

I'll admit it: I stopped. I had to. My lungs were burning, my legs were jelly -- I was toast. I rested. I contemplated my next move, but I knew the only thing I could do was continue climbing, knowing I'd get to the top. Eventually.

It wasn't pretty, but I did crest that hill and started my descent on the backstretch of this loop. Of course, I still had to tangle with Son of Hell Hill, but I had some time to regroup and I was able to scale that sucker, too.

I was tired, but I knew the worst was behind me and I just wanted to get home, log my time and make a mental note to never forget Holy Crap Hill Drive. As I rolled up toward my house, I reached into my pocket to get my iPhone so I could stop that timer as soon as I crossed the threshold of my driveway, which was only about 15 more yards away. As I pulled the iPhone out, I thought I felt something fall out of my pocket, so I turned my head to look behind me....

Come back tomorrow for Part 2!

Sakic Says So Long

Joe Sakic, the longtime captain of the Colorado Avalanche, will announce his retirement later today. Over the course of his 20-year NHL career, Sakic racked up 1,641 points, which puts him 8th on the all-time scoring list. Along the way he also made 12 All-Star appearances, won 2 Stanley Cups, a Conn Smythe Trophy (MVP of the playoffs), a Hart (league MVP), a Lady Byng (sportsmanship) and a Pearson (MVP as judged by peers). There's no doubt he'll be inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 2012, his first year of eligibilty.

It goes without saying that this is the end of an era in Colorado, as Sakic has been the face of the franchise since it moved to Denver from Quebec prior to the 1995-96 season. But this is also the end of an era for me. I first got into hockey sometime around 1991, when Sakic was in his fourth NHL season with the Nordiques. He hadn't become a star yet, but I was drawn to him for reasons I can't remember anymore. It might have been his humility, his grace under fire, or maybe just the fact that he was a lefty like me. Or it could've just been the fact that he's got a really cool last name.

Anyway, I continued to follow his career closely, and I was probably the happiest person in California (and maybe even the only one aware) in 1996 when he led the Avalanche to the franchise's first Stanley Cup. Not only did Colorado win the Cup, but Sakic was brilliant throughout the playoffs, tallying 34 points and winning the Conn Smythe Trophy.

While I loved watching his blistering wrist shot and seemingly effortless movements on the ice, I was always equally impressed with his class, dignity and respect for the game and his fellow players. He never fought, he never complained ... I don't even think he ever scowled. He just played the game the way it was meant to be played, and he just happened to be really good at it. I tried to model my own game after his, constantly working on my wrist shot to make it as deadly accurate as his, trying to always be a gentleman on the ice ... I even wore his #19 whenever I had the opportunity.

This is the end of an era for me not only because Sakic is my favorite hockey player, but also because he's the last professional athlete I thought of as a role model. When you hit your late 30s, there aren't a lot of pros still playing you can look up to (and looking up to an athlete who's younger than oneself is just kind of sad and creepy), and Sakic -- who turned 40 on July 7 -- was the last one in my eyes. Because beyond the statistics, awards and accolades, there was the character. He was a leader, but not in an "I'm the captain, I'll get in anyone's face if I need to" sort of way. He inspired his teammates with quiet excellence and showed them that winning was important, but doing it with class and dignity was just as important.

I see a lot of myself in Sakic (or maybe I see a lot of him in me), as I've always tried to be humble and lead by example. I've never achieved the same level of success that Sakic reached in his career, but it's something I aspire to. I'm sad to see Joe Sakic's career come to end, but not because I'll miss watching him play. I'm sad because it means that I won't be able to take my son to a game, point to #19 and say, "Watch that guy. That's one of Daddy's heroes."

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 8

June 25
After my previous adventure along Valencia's sole unlighted bike path, I decided this time around I would stick to my original plan and not fall for any road-sign traps. After passing the sign that almost led me to my doom two nights earlier, I stayed on the road and onto the bridge that goes over a dry river bed.

This is when I realized that the bike path sign wasn't a trap at all. In fact, it was a much better alternative to the bridge, on which the road narrows and the bike lane is non-existent. Of course, I could have just hopped up the curb and gotten Ito the sidewalk, but that would only slow me down, and I've got a race to win!

So I held my breath and pedaled over the bridge and fast as I could, safely reaching the sidewalk on the other side and gasping for air. I made the turn at the next light and made my way up the small incline to the next turn. Now I was on the street that turns into the final hellish hill climb I face at the end of every ride, but at this point of the route I had a nice downhill section and was able to let gravity do most of the work.



Unfortunately, my timing sucked and I hit the traffic light just before the start of the hellish hill and had to wait. On the plus side, I was able to catch my breath and rest for a minute in anticipation of what I was facing. In order to change things up a bit, about halfway up the hill, I made a left onto a street that loops around and eventually becomes the crest of HH (Hell Hill).

However I quickly came to the realization that Hell Hill was a misnomer. At the very least, it shall now be known as Son of Hell Hill, because that left turn put me on a long, slow uphill climb that took me a little by surprise and had me cursing left turns. But I knew this was all in the name of progress, so I pressed on and after several "resting turn-offs" (turning onto flat side streets and riding to the end and back to catch a breather) I finally made it to the top.

By the time I was breathing normally again, I considered it another small victory for Team Engel. On paper, this ride looks almost identical to my last one (Day 7), but I felt like it was a much more challenging session. Or maybe I was just more tired going into this one, and consequently felt more tired after. Either way, it was another good training ride.

Le Tour de France a commencé!

I know I'm a couple days late, but I have a wife and a kid and good friends and had a really busy weekend, so I didn't get around to posting this on Saturday.

Independence Day marked the start of the 96th Tour de France with a 9.6-mile time trial through Monaco. Naturally, when most people think of cycling and/or the Tour de France, they think of Lance Armstrong. While he has made some questionable personal choices over the past few years, his highly publicized battle against cancer and subsequent founding of the Lance Armstrong Foundation is nothing short of amazing and inspiring.

Since I'm deeply embedded in my cycling training for the Malibu Triathlon and the Tour is now underway, it seemed only fitting that I share one of my favorite commercials of all time. Check it:



I'd like to wish Armstrong, Leipheimer, Zabriskie, Farrar and every other competitor (American and non-American) bonne chance in this year's event.

Fun Fact: While the visuals in this ad are awesome, I've also found the music to be what really helps push this commercial into the rare air of all-time greats, and I found out about a year ago that an acquaintance of mine actually co-wrote the music. I try to play it cool every time I see him, but every conversation he and I have usually comes back around to this commercial. At this point I'm sure he wishes we'd never met.

Fun Trivia: In 2005, David Zabriskie's victory in the opening stage (Fromentine - Noirmoutier-en-l'Ile) set the record for the highest speed in a time trial at 33.97 mph.

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 7

June 23
After a week of one day on, one day off training, I lapsed and took an unintentional 6-day hiatus. I had planned to ride on the 20th (Saturday) or the 21st (Sunday), but the weather got very hot, very fast, Dash's nap schedule got all fercocked and Sunday happened to be Father's Day. Being a father myself, I elected to spend the day with my family rather than torture my legs and lungs.

Which brings us to Tuesday, June 23rd (just couldn't get my shit together on Monday night after a busy weekend). According to the training schedule I had planned out, this was the week I needed to step it up from 4 miles to 5 miles. Since I'm not a fan of the "there and back" kind of route, I mapped out a 5-mile route with the help of Google Maps (true that--DOUBLE TRUE!) and headed out.

My new route called for me to continue past the spot where I previously took my second right and basically just make it a bigger loop by going up and around a street a little further down. While I've driven this route dozens of times in the past, I've never been on it on my bike. At night.

OK, quick sidebar. The city I live in is covered by paved paths and trails that wind behind and through neighborhoods, and makes extensive use of tunnels and bridges so that you can stroll through the city without ever having to use a crosswalk. This will be great for Dash when he can walk to school, but not so much for me when I'm trying to get my fitness on!

So, I'm riding along on the sidewalk (which is extra wide to allow for a two-lane bike path) and I come to a bridge, where the bike path part of the sidewalk actually ends. So now it's either ride in the street (where there's no actual bike lane), or follow the friendly sign that points to the right and says "Bike Path." I knew I'd be turning right at the next street anyway, so I figured I'd avoid the temptation to become roadkill and took the quick right.



Now I found myself on one of the aforementioned trails, which allowed me to continue my ride without flinching every time a pair of headlights came up behind me, hoping I wouldn't get clipped by one of the monster trucks that frequent our area. This was working out great, except for one caveat: this appeared to be the one trail in all of Santa Clarita that isn't lighted. So now I'm pedaling along a trail, not really sure where I am or where the trail is taking me, unable to see except for what's illuminated directly ahead of me in the by the weaker-than-I-realized beam of light emitted by my bike light. But I live in a relatively safe city, I'm a fairly big guy and I have a t-shirt that says, "It's just safe to assume that I know karate." So I'm not all that worried about a rapist jumping out of the bushes or anything, but I start picturing myself getting all tangled up with a coyote or a skunk or a raccoon or something messy like that. And on top of that, the trail sort of winds its way leisurely along the banks of a dry river bed, so I'm having to focus just a few feet in front of me so I don't suddenly veer off the path. This is when I realize, despite the fact that it's 9:30 on a Tuesday night and I'm pretty much in the middle of nowhere, there are pedestrians on the path. So now I'm trying to look at the path directly ahead of me, avoid raccoons, skunks, rapists (you never know) AND pedestrians, all the while trying to figure out where the hell I am!

As I continue along the path, I realize that it doesn't seem to be doing anything but go straight(-ish), and I start picturing myself 10 miles away with no idea where I am. I decide it's best to turn around and find my way back so I can focus on getting my fitness, not worrying about running over someone (or something)!

Eventually, I found my way back to civilization and -- after heading the wrong way and adding about 1/2 mile to my ride -- finished the most unplanned, unanticipated and unusual training ride to date. More importantly, I once again set new personal records for distance (5.73 miles), average speed (12.26 mph) and pace (4:54 per mile), and thanks to my unexpected detour I ended up going nearly 6 miles.