The Everyday Athlete

My life is dominated by Sicilians (don’t call them Italians, dude). Sal and I lived with his parents and sister for two years in San Jose, California and if you think living with your parents sounds like a nightmare, think again. Those Sicilians know how to party.

Besides guzzling his father’s homemade hooch, singing along to Italian pop music with his sister, and learning to sew with his seamstress mother, we spent a lot of time making pizzas.

Sal and his father built a brick oven in the backyard years ago, and it gets a serious workout during the summer. Keep reading →

The psychological progression of waking up early for hard workouts always entertains me.

5:30am Alarm: Roll over. Hit snooze. Tell myself I should send a cancellation text because doesn’t it look kind of gray and cold outside?

5:40am Snooze Alarm #2: Roll over. Hit snooze again. Tell myself I will get up a little later than planned and drive to meet my running partner instead of running there. It will cut two miles off my daily mileage total, but it’s going to be a decent mileage day either way so who cares.

5:50am Snooze Alarm #3: Roll over. Hit snooze again. Remind myself that all the gear is laid out and waiting from me. Getting ready is as easy as sleep-walking over to the bathroom, tying a few laces, securing a heart strap, grabbing a water bottle, and bolting to the car. I can do that in 10 minutes, right?

5:58am: Wake up before the next alarm and think, "Shit! I gotta roll!" The dread of a track workout sets in. I tell myself I will just run to the track and then around the track at just below tempo while watching Natalie do the actual intervals. Yeah, that’s it.

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He cooks, he cleans, he tunes our army of bikes… and that’s just the beginning.

The boy that I affectionately refer to as a mule turns 38 today. He’s as Sicilain, as spirited, and as sweet as ever. If there was ever a reason to celebrate then you have it here: that this man continues to walk the face of the planet and keep us doubled over with laughter.

Sal will be embarrassed by this but isn’t that the point?  And if plastering him across the Outdoors section of the Oregonian week in and week out hasn’t already completely mortified him, then he’ll probably be ok with a little blog love.

(Some days I think that this man is made of patience.)

So, here’s to the Sally-boy: Sicilian-born, California-raised, and Portland-proud!  Happy Birthday, Little Man.

Well, not really.  But on Saturday morning I wake up without a single butterfly in my stomach.  And for a girl with an award-winning capacity to worry about big rides, that’s saying something.

Breakfast is Sal’s classic pre-ride masterpiece: buckwheat pancakes and eggs, black coffee.  Bags and bikes in car: Project Portland Velo Century is all systems go!

The roll out: Perfect and fast.

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San Jose, California.  Black coffee and toast.

The floral tablecloth is covered in clear plastic.  Sal’s family is moving around me.

The toast will be unwelcome cargo in 25 minutes, but my gut is singing songs to me and I have to wait for my iPhone to load up new music.

I’ve cut my hair again.  The sun is shining.  Across the street, the firemen are cleaning their shiny red trucks.  Sprinklers are making green lawns greener and old ladies are bent over flower gardens, preparing to wave at me just as soon as I appear around the corner.

The suburbs are loaded with mediocrity, simplicity and the slow progress of daily lives turning over and over again.  They’re waiting for me.

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Mile 35: I hate Natalie Ramsland’s guts.

Not because she climbs like a scared monkey, or because she’s the primary reason I am stuck on this mountain pushing gears, but because she knows what to expect next. She’s done a pre-ride.

Who is she to know what agony lies around the next corner?  Who is she to know what grade is coming put the daggers into my quads?

She is omnipotent and unflinching. Her spirit unwavering.  She is indefatigable.

At least, this is how it seems.  And of course she is  - she has done the pre-ride after all.  It seems to me the difference between my imminent failure and her guaranteed success.

For the entirety of the ride thus far, I’ve been torturing by saying, "Hey Natalie - is this the climb?" after every slight rise.  I figure this is what she deserves.

Mile 36: I love Natalie Ramsland.

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I’m about to bite off a little more than I can chew and, you know what?  I plan to survive.

Moreover - I plan to take it by storm.

Tomorrow I’ll do the biggest climbing day that I’ve attempted to date.  My "normal" (read: non-cyclist) friends think it’s nuts.  My hardcore cyclist friends think it’s no big deal.

I’m somewhere in between.  127 miles and 7,800 feet of climbing?  Yeah, that’s going to be a leg ripper for sure.  But I’m inclined to think it’s not impossible. Maybe it’s the delusional part of me taking over, but I’m in it to win it, and there’s no turning back now.

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I’ve received several requests to purchase images of Chris and Levi from the Cascade Cycling Classic so I’ve put a few up for sale.

The Horner Taxi shots are included, of course. Thanks for the support - it keeps the lights on!

Cheers,
The Management

Alltop, a new "digital magazine rack" for the internet recently did me the honor of adding me to the Cycling section. 

This is pretty exciting news, particularly because one of the guys behind the project is Guy Kawasaki, a software, marketing and blogging guru. (Back in my software marketing days, my former boss drooled daily over Guy’s site). He’s a veritable force of the internet, a prolific author, and highly sought-after consultant and speaker.

Enough Guy-Love for one day? Fair enough.

Check out the site and if you think they’re missing something important, feel free to drop them a line and let them know. 

Brad Ross threw a wrap party for the Cascade Cycling Classic last night and I should have known better than to take the first gin and tonic he handed me (it was in a pint glass), but I threw caution to the wind and decided to celebrate the end of an epic weekend.

I can’t tell you the rest, but I’ll admit that I partied almost (but not quite) as hard as Sherry on the night of the Cross Crusade Halloween Party last October. 

Either way, it was the perfect end to a long, sunny weekend in Bend.

More photos, stories, and pro reports are imminent.  For now, I’ll leave you with a link to the Horner story on VeloNews, in case you haven’t seen it. We are off to find coffee for the long drive back.

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