Victory, but not really

Date: April 5
Mileage: 7.2
Temperature upon departure: 37

Today I swam for just over an hour and rode a bicycle for well under an hour, but my most rewarding activity of the day was choking down death salsa at Fernando's. For a divey little Mexican joint with regular entrees as bland as funeral casseroles, that place has amazing salsa. You scoop up a small amount on a chip - it could be a tomato chunk, or it could be a chili pepper, not that it matters. Then, you stuff the entire chip as far back in your mouth and as far away from your lips as it will go, bite down hard and chew fast. The ensuing pain is beyond what any workout could prescribe; it will stomp all over your nagging knee pains, your sore calves and burning quads. It will rip through your nasal passage, shut down your vision and shoot a steady stream of white fire into your brain. It is real; immediate and an amazingly effective source of endorphins. And I will say, I normally have what I would consider an above-average tolerance for heat.

Geoff took me out to Fernando's to celebrate my first "complete" (meaning I kept both feet on the pedals the entire time) bike ride since Susitna. The salsa was the clincher, though, because I was definitely feeling a little down. I had only planned to ride 5-10 miles, but in the back of my mind was hoping for longer. Before this afternoon, part of me was convinced my injured phase had nearly ended. Part of me feared that I had made no progress at all. The reality is, as it always is, somewhere neatly in between. This is progress, though. I think I count now four outdoor rides in six weeks. The first, I only made it 50 feet without pain. The next, about 500 yards. The third, just over a mile. And this, pain only right at the end, mile 7. I can say that I am becoming better at judging when harshness is approaching, and turning my butt around accordingly.

Improvement? Yes. Miracle cure? No. It's all in good time. And at least I know now that if cycling doesn't work out, I'll always have death salsa.

Silly little exercises

This is going to sound idiotic, but I didn't really expect physical therapy to be such a ... well ... physical endeavor. You go to the doctor, they prod you with some cold metal objects, and then you go home, right? I didn't really expect to go to the doctor, do six repetitions of wall sits and wince my way through about three squats.

Actually, I can’t even call them squats. They weren't squats; they were girly little knee bends that my PT asked me to do in front of a mirror. After squat three, I caught a glimpse of the confusion on my face as my right knee buckled under my body weight. That’s right. Buckled. Practically crashed into my left knee. My PT stopped me right there. I think she was just trying to prove to me what I already knew ... I am one weak puppy right now.

I guess it makes sense. For four weeks, I limped to the point of nonuse. For much of that time, I might as well have had a cast on my right leg. Even when I started using it, there was a lot of favoring going on. I think my physical therapist believes my original injury is well on its way to being mended, and I agree with her. The time for recliner chairs and potato chips has passed. Now my routine is all about strength building.

She gave me this long latex band that I'm supposed wrap around my feet and then use it for resistance as I sidestep down the hall. As I was trying it out at the office, I caught another glimpse of my reflection - framed by that malodorous neon green piece of rubber - and the thought crossed my mind that this may be the most asinine thing I have ever attempted. Downright silly. What’s the point of it all?

It’s a good question, really. I never pictured myself as the personality type that would go sniveling into physical therapy at age 27 with a minor injury. No, my strong pioneer Homer family ethic teaches me that if you can walk, and you can work, then you’re fine. So you can’t bike? Then you don’t bike. Quit your whining and go back to pick’n cucumbers. (I know, Dad, I wasn't the one that had to pick cucumbers. But it’s a good family allegory nonetheless)

So why do this work? I generally carry enough optimism to believe that time will bring most things around on their own, if I let them be. And I’m not exactly loving the two hours at the gym on a sunny, warm day. Or the silly little exercises with their unnatural positions and dead weights. I don't have to spend my day this way - I'm certainly fine otherwise. And yet, as long as I'm not riding, I greedily welcome this torture lite.

Interesting how things that are so obviously optional can start to move beyond that. There was once I time when I didn't ride bicycles, and time marched forward, and I was happy. Then I introduced cycling into my routine, coddled it, built it, wove it through the rest of my life. Now I can't let it go. Cycling has, in some ways, ingrained itself into who I am. I may be as simple as that. And so I fight.

Passover

Long night waiting for election results to come in. This state has far too many of those things. But I had a good morning in the subtle saga of knee recovery (Yeah. I guess this is yet another one of those kind of posts. You have been warned.) Geoff told me there was a new Modest Mouse CD out, so I downloaded the whole thing and spent more than an hour listening to it, doing my PT stretches and riding my bike trainer. It was a good hour, mostly because of the music, but also because I rode three whole 20-minute sessions on the trainer. I've done this before, post-Susitna even, but this was the first time I made it through even 20 minutes without throttling the handlebars to displace pain. It's still a little hard for me to sort out good burn - like the kind in my seriously out-of-shape quads - from bad burn - like the kind that comes and goes in front of my knee - but I'm pretty sure today's riding was all about good burn.

And because I didn't want to overdo it, and because I had an extra hour to kill due to the whole election thing, and because if I spend too much time sitting at home I start to go nuts on the cookie supply, I went to the pool and swam a mile. It took 47 minutes. I'm getting a little (so very little) bit faster. I'm going to buy a swim cap and something that will hold my nostrils shut so I can cut through the water like a normal person.

Thank you to everyone who commented on my bike fit dilemma. These comments have been incredibly helpful. Not only have people provided good suggestions, but they've also helped keep me closer to the surface of reality when I wake up surrounded in sunlight and think "Today's the day to ride for four hours!" So thank you, again.