“Generally speaking, this stuff [bicycles] is meant to be used.  It’s meant to get scratched, dinged, dropped, and even crashed occasionally.  A bike should be scratched.  Using the bike will bring you joy; preserving the bike will only bring you frustration.  Even if you never, ever ride the bike it will still age.  So you might as well ride it while it’s pretty and enjoy the process of making it ugly.”

All material things are meant to age, and while some, like fine furniture and paintings, do it gracefully, others like bicycles and work boots are meant to be used and used hard.  Being able to see the scars, scrapes, and scuffs on their surfaces is like being able to look inside a great tree and see the layers of rings stretching from the center outward.  Each mark is a sign showing that that piece of equipment did what it was intended to do, over and over, bringing joy to the user.

I bought a new pair of skis today.  I don’t ski.  I’ve been out on cross country skis a handful of times–one long weekend was spent on classic skis in the Boundary Waters, and I spent a few hours on skate skis.  Nevertheless, I knew I didn’t want to ride my bike inside for hours on end anymore, so I bit the bullet and bought a pair of entry-level skate skis from the shop.  They were beautiful.  I spent the morning mounting the binding and prepping the flawless bases for wax, waxing and brushing them to the best of my abilities.  Then, I set about making them ugly.  I skied as best I could, but spent plenty of time “becoming one with the Earth.”  I found the rocks, and I put a few good scrapes into my bases.

Now that I know how to mount bindings and wax skis, I should learn to repair the bases with the plastic sticks we melt into them and refinish their surfaces on the belt tuner and stone grinder.  What better way to learn than to practice on my own skis?

I had fun today, and my skis show it.  I haven’t stabbed a pole through the top cap yet, but I’m sure I will soon.  These skis will stick with me a long time.  They’re well-made.  They can take it.  Early in the season, years from now, they’ll be the skis I pull from the closet and break out in an effort to keep my newest, nicest skis pretty.  They’ll be the skis I don’t baby.  They’ll be the skis that take on all conditions, that I can count on no matter what, and to them will go the real glory.

People are kind of like bikes and skis, too.  When I broke my collarbone it was the first injury I had where I knew I’d have a permanent mark from it.  This was discomforting at first, just like the first crash that mars the finish on a new bike, but eventually, after the healing, I saw the bony lump that marks my fused bone as something to be proud of–a fun reminder of someone who pushes it to the limit and isn’t afraid to get hurt.  Eventually I’ll collect more marks, lumps, and scars, perhaps even a few wrinkles too, and they’ll only show how well I lived–how my body was something that I used while it was pretty, and I enjoyed every step of the process that made it ugly.

This holiday season is mixed.  On one hand, my personal life is going well and training is looking promising.  I’ve got a good plan laid out and that fills me with confidence.  Also, I’m already seeing good results and I’m not even five weeks in.  On the other hand, finding work is tough.  The bike shop has been slow since we haven’t had snow and nobody is really excited to buy skis.  On top of that, adjuncts in MNSCU can only teach 10 credits during the academic year.  Since I teach three credit classes I can really only teach nine credits, so next semester I’ll have one class instead of two.  Currently, the only monthly income I can count on won’t even cover my rent and student loans, let alone car insurance, phone bills, food, gasoline, and other expenses.  This is probably the first time in my life I’ve had to seriously worry about something like this and it does bother me.

People say you need to count your blessings, but it’s hard when survival is a legitimate worry.  I have a few weeks to find more work, and I’m pursuing a few avenues, but it’s also discouraging to have a Masters degree and only be able to get work in grocery stores and restaurants.  On the plus side, losing weight is easy with an empty pantry.

I know I’ll find something else.  I can always give up my car and insurance and bike everywhere, and my cell phone really is a luxury.  Email keeps me in touch with most people well enough.  Sometimes I feel like things aren’t fair, or even just, and that with my degree I should have something by now.  I worked hard and spent a lot of time studying and developing some really useful skills, but perhaps I just don’t know how to market myself properly.  In the end, I tell myself that these thoughts are self-centered and naive.  Nothing is fair, and you can never rest on your laurels.  I worked hard for my degree and now I need to work harder for a job.  It’ll mean more that way.  I’ll really appreciate it.

I don’t want to work at Wal-Mart to pay off my student loans.  But maybe I’ll have to.  This isn’t how I planned things, but that doesn’t matter.  You can never plan too far into the future if you have any hope of succeeding.  I’m reading Solo Nanga Parbat, Reinhold Messner’s book about his 1978 solo ascent of the 8000 meter peak, and he writes over and over things that speak directly to me about the essence of what it is to live, and how one should live.  As for plans he says:

I only plan ahead what is absolutely necessary.  I believe in being independent–and that means I do not want to be dependent on my future.

In the solitude, Messner learns about necessity.  So what is necessary?  What do you need?  What do I need?  What is truly important?  Honestly, I’m not sure.  Could I give up my bike if I had to?  Would I ever sell it to make ends meet?  These sorts of questions have been racing through my mind.  Unless my luck turns I face hard choices in the future, and I can’t count on having any sort of luck at all.  The future looms in front of me, big as a mountain.  Do I conquer it, or will I be conquered?

For a while Sean Kelly lived in an apartment without electricity or running water.  He raced his bike hard, won enough money to stay alive.  I would do this, but even poverty is a sort of luxury I can’t afford.  I need to make money and pay back what I owe.  I will.  I’ll be alright.  I’ll be alright.

The weather has been amazing.  Yesterday it topped out in the mid to upper forties, and I was running, at night, in tights and a long sleeved t-shirt, and I felt mildly overdressed.  Is this really December in Northern Minnesota?  Are we really this lucky?  I packed a hat, gloves, wool socks, and my wind vest into my Camelbak along with a couple of rice based chocolate cupcakes I baked up a while back.  Leaving my house I made good time to the trail where I could turn off my headlamp and rear taillight.  I wouldn’t need them again for about ten miles.

The miles sailed by, and the quarter inch of snow on the trail reflected enough starlight that I could see where I was going.  It’s funny how when you’re alone at night negative thinking can get the best of you.  Things like “you haven’t run this far in months, you’re going to hurt yourself” and “you’ve not even put 100 miles on your new barefoot style running shoes; this is a recipe for exploded Achilles’ tendons” kept going through my head.  I also had the sudden realization that if I slipped, fell, and whacked my noggin on the pavement, I’d probably die out there since no one would find me until morning.  But by focusing on my stride and the starlight I was able to stifle that sort of thinking, live in the moment, and enjoy my run.

I made one crucial error that I would pay for later–an error that would cause me to fail in my attempt to circle Lake Bemidji–and I made it before I even set foot outdoors.  My Camelbak had sat hanging up, unused since summer, and had developed a thin, greenish film inside.  I rinsed it out a few times and filled it before the run, hoping that all would be well.  It wasn’t.  The water tasted a bit funky, but when doesn’t water out of a Camelbak have a bit of an odd flavor?  I decided to sip slowly from it, knowing that whatever was in there might stop my run, but sixteen miles without water would definitely finish me off.  Thirteen miles into my run I was hit with sudden and violent stomach cramps accompanied by heavy sweating.  All I could picture was some tiny protozoan creature attacking the lining of my digestive tract.  I pushed on, but my abdomen began to spasm.  This was without a doubt the worst pain I’ve ever felt while running.

I slowed down to a walk and it got slightly better.  Checking my watch, I could see that I was up a good five minutes on my desired time, so I decided to slow it down and keep walking until I was at my goal pace and see how running felt.  As soon as I ran hard again, the cramps and sweating returned.  I was finished, just three miles from the end of my run.  I called Cyndi to come pick me up.  Coincidentally, earlier that day she’d been sick and asked me to drive over to her place to take care of her, which constituted bringing her a glass of icewater and assuring her she’d live.  I figured it was a fair trade.

Even though I didn’t get my full lake lap, it was a great night and a great run and I’m proud of what I did.  This morning my legs feel a bit stiff, but nothing that twenty or thirty minutes of spinning on my bike won’t cure, and hey, I did do a half-marathon, on a whim, at night, in the middle of December.  That’s not too shabby.

Slow-paced, easy riding is the name of the game this time of year and it felt perfect yesterday.  Previously unridden roads lured me down their winding ways and I felt I was flying across the asphalt, soaking up the winter sunshine that splashed off frozen lakes.  I wish I’d known their names.

I think if I could take people with me on days like that, I’d create lifelong cyclists.  Wandering the backroads that wound through the pines was the highlight of my month.

Here’s to many more days of ice-free roads.

There have been plenty of indoor rides as well.  Having two sets of wheels makes it easy to switch between road riding and spinning on the trainer, but I don’t have a cassette for the extra set, which means the swap takes an extra thirty seconds or so. 

I used Joe Friel’s Cyclist’s Training Bible to write myself a decent training plan, and so far I’m sticking to it.  I’m getting in around eleven hours of training each week so far.  I’ll have a good 650 hours or more in by the time I finish off racing season.  I’m shooting for an early peak, some time in mid-June.  Most riders will be trying to peak in August for the state championships, but I’m not that interested in them.  The way I’ve planned it, I can probably hold form through June and early July, take a few weeks to freshen up, and peak again in August if the mood strikes me.

These long, cold hours are going to pay off big time in the summer.  Winter training always reminds me of this quote by Joe Frazier:

“You can map out a fight plan or a life plan, but when the action starts, it may not go the way you planned, and you’re down to your reflexes – that means your [preparation:]. That’s where your roadwork shows. If you cheated on that in the dark of the morning, well, you’re going to get found out now, under the bright lights.”

We’ll certainly see this summer.