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.
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.
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.
June 17I've played enough sports in my life to know that when you take a long layoff, it takes time to get your endurance back. But when I took a "long layoff" in the past, it usually meant a couple months. And I was in my 20s. With that said, something really weird happened when I hit my mid-30s. For starters, I had a kid. While he is the sun of my universe (haha ... punny!), being a parent pretty much takes up all my free time. And what little free time I do get, I'm not exactly out there running 5-minute miles. So when I started training for this triathlon, I fooled myself into thinking I'd get back into shape in a couple of weeks. Ya know, like I did when I was 18 and basketball season was starting up. I was very, very wrong. Liz -- who is my wife, and also pretty smart it turns out -- was quick to notice my shock and disappointment when, after two whole weeks, I wasn't logging 8 miles in 30 minutes. I think she first noticed it when I came home after a ride, lay down on the living room floor, and asked her to kill me in between desperate wheezes."Don't worry, honey," she said in a very Mrs. Cunningham sorta way. "You'll find your groove really soon and then it'll be fun!" I nodded in agreement, but deep down I just wanted her to rip my lungs out through my mouth.Of course, it turns out she was right (as she is 99% of the time. Yeah, that's right, I'm staking my claim to that 1%). And it was on Day 6 that I hit my stride. I went farther than I had up to this point, and I did it faster than any of my previous rides. And on top of that, I was my normal shade of pasty when I walked into the house afterward. 
In truth, I only went .13 miles farther than I had gone on Day 5, which is only about 2 football fields and a few first downs. But I shaved 36 seconds per mile off the pace, which made me feel like I was actually making progress. At this rate, I'd be logging 4-minute miles in a matter of days and would be on target to meet my tentatively set goals. Which is a story for another day.
June 15Day 5 was a fairly uneventful ride; I was back to what seemed to become my default route. Down, around and back up again, finishing with the Hill From Hell that continues to kick my (fat) ass. Despite being more of the same, there are a couple pieces of trivia worth noting in my quest for endurance, efficiency and the ability to not want to pass out at the end of a ride:
1) I passed the 4-mile mark, traveling 4.01 miles, to be exact
2) This was my first ride with only one day's rest
These are fairly insignificant facts in the bigger picture of trying to go 18 miles, but they're milestones nonetheless and I'm not going to downplay them. I will point out that I'm now realizing the Grand Canyon-esque difference between being 28 and 38. While I didn't fell all that much different at 38 than I did when I was 28 (unless the early Alzheimer's has already kicked in), my body made it very clear very quickly that I will not be getting in shape easily, and that "rest and recovery" is a very, very real (and vital) part of training!
