Entertaining Michael while he queued in Flughafen Schönefeld for an Aeroflot flight via Moscow to Guangzhou. Recently deceased wild deer meat from the Wildfleischhandel in Kreuzberg.
There was this downhill in Narrm, High St in Glen Iris, a long dogleg leading down to the train crossing where, if the traffic was right, I’d hit 70km/h. Apparently the speed limit now is 60. Kinda sketchy, as the road leading in already gave some speed, and the first right bend had a weird camber that pushed towards the gutter. The only way to ride it fast was to apex across both lanes. That’s the easy way to get fast.
I’ve been doing a particular training lately, that I enjoy in that obviously “I’m suffering here” kinda way. Every time I pass a person walking, it’s out of the saddle for 10 revolutions. If I pass another person while I’m up, another 10. A maximum of 20, but there’s a couple of sections around the airport where I might only get a few seconds sat back down before I’m up again. The randomness of it appeals to me, much more than the strict “20 seconds on, 2 minutes off, repeat” kind of thing of intervals. I have Emma Pooley to thank for this. Today I decided to add in one all out sprint per lap, about 250 metres of locked in, high cadence, heart-fucking pain. I like high cadence work, but it’s only been very recently I’ve been doing it, and in the context of high speed it’s very new to me — as much as I love fast.
’Cos I’m a slightly drama bitch about keeping details, I wrote this in my notes:
I hit 50.8km/h at 00:57:48, HR 187; HR peaks at 191 at 00:57:53, 5 seconds later and remains at this until 00:58:02, a duration of 9 seconds, 13 seconds after my speed ended its peak, and has dropped to 41km/h. I definitely felt those ten seconds, gasping for air and all. Anyway, fun times.
When I got home and saw I’d finally got over 50km/h, and no downhill assistance, I announced rather loudly, “Fucking banger, you little cunt!”
Gracie Elvin said it:
“I always admired Mat’s career from afar but didn’t get the chance to get to know him better until he joined GreenEDGE. I look up to his work ethic and relate to his love of the Classics, as I love them so much too. His persistence with his favorite race Paris-Roubaix was motivating even before he won it, but I will never forget that epic day. His words “Just keep riding” struck such a deep chord with me and they are words I tell myself regularly when times or races get tough.
“He’s one of the good guys, a friend to all of us women and not just the guys. I hope that he can continue to share his years of experience with riders in the future because he has so much to offer.”
Not as much riding this month as I’d have liked, with rain (which I like, but ruins bike) and sick (which I don’t like, and neither does bike). But a sunset ride yesterday made up for some of that, finding some more of the gravel, single-track, cyclocross possibilities in the inner-northern field. Another sunny day today, -3°, perfect.
Distracting myself from a quartet of books I’ve been struggling with for an age (thanks, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak), I “accidentally” picked up Edward Said’s Orientalism again. It’s been a while since I blearily (and slowly) read an academic book over breakfast; I am well out of practice. I don’t remember how awkwardly his gendered language sat with me in the past as this time around, though he was almost exclusively writing about white European men, nonetheless, Orientalism remains a depressingly relevant and critical read.
Yesterday was rain; today was snow. Squalls cutting across Tempelhofer Feld, alternating sun and darkness every 15 minutes. Colder than yesterday, and harsher wind. I had my reflective fluoro-pink gloves for the ride, making some colour in the gloom. I shouted, “Yes! Fucking yes!” when the snow first spun across the apron, I love the work in this weather.
Glamour to me isn’t wearing fancy clothes or all the make up or perfect hair. To me it’s is the process of putting your heart and soul into something to be the very best version of you that you are physically and mentally able to be. It’s not always about the result it’s often about the perseverance and dogged determination that to me is glamour. So guys this is what my glamour looks like!
Speaking of bikes and starting the year with a wet, cold, and very windy ride, I’ve been using a Polar heart rate monitor while I ride (and climb, dance, yoga, whatever mostly) on and off for the last 2 1/2 years, to give me an idea of what my subjective feel of training compares to what’s actually going on in my body. It also somehow helps motivate me to do the training, week after week.
Last year I decided cycling is my new dancing, so, two things: First, 2018 is the first year in more than 20 years I didn’t do a single dance class, which I feel rather good about. And second, training on a bike is dancing for me, so in fact I did a lot of dancing last year. There’s some gaps in my year, March in Narrm, Australia, April without a bike, weeks here and there where I didn’t train or didn’t use the monitor, and at some point dropping using it for yoga and core. Altogether, I did a lot more training last year than I have in recent years, and cycling is the reason. From doing it to bulk up my endurance for dancing, to doing it because hooning through a wet winter forest is one of life’s deep pleasures, to doing it because it was the only thing that sorted my knee out (and 2017’s riding is entirely why I can do squats and pliés without my patella feeling like it’s being gutted), to doing it because I love it and love the suffering and honestly would ride for hours a day if I could arrange it.
And seeing it change my body. After all those years of ballet and dance, and yoga and climbing, all of which I saw change me depending on how intense I was in each of them, cycling is the first new discipline I’ve got serious about since I was a student. So, here’s 2018, and all the training I did with a heart rate monitor strapped under my boobs.
Yes, I got hit by that rain. No, I did not leave the big ring, even when the 24km/h head wind gusted to 60+ — and even though my big ring is a cyclocross compact 46, I’m claiming Rule #90: Never Get Out of the Big Ring, and Rule #67: Do your time in the wind. Yes, crosswinds of the same intensity are rather scary, especially when the rain is horizontal; and dry 7°C seemed relatively warm compared to wet, so, Rule #9: If you are out riding in bad weather, it means you are a badass. Period. Also, Rule #5: Harden The Fuck Up. I wasn’t intending for a foul weather ride, mainly because the Berlin grot is a bike killer, but I am a rider who loves the work.