The Return of Mittwoch Arbeite

There's probably some deep-seated reason why I think German words sound so funny.  English is after all a Germanic language, so there are some similarities, but somehow most German words sound either terrifying or ridiculous.

Last year at around this time in this post I coined the term "Mittwoch Arbeite", German for Wednesday work.  For me, that means a split session workout of a lunchtime run and a ride on the rollers after work.  And of course it's on a Wednesday sandwiched between Masters' ski sessions on Tuesday and Thursday.

As much as I joke about my lack of running prowess it is a great way to get some quality exercise in a short time, and that's especially true when the weather is bad.  Running in the dark or on ice and snow is far less dangerous than riding, and a decent workout takes as little as 30 minutes.  Yesterday at lunchtime it was 10 degrees Fahrenheit (another German word) when I left for my run, and after 2-3 uncomfortable minutes I was warm enough to unzip the collar on my jacket.  

So in true Pro-35 fashion, here are some details on the gear I use for a typical Mittwoch Arbeite adventure.

Shoes.  This pair of Karhu Fluid Fulcrum Rides are a year or two old, but I have to say that the fit and feel is among the best I've found for road shoes.  Karhu does a minimal drop (difference between heel and forefoot shoe thickness) so the shoes are fairly flat and neutral.  It's not a super cushy or super stable ride, but the feel is very good and it encourages a proper mid-foot strike.  

Rollers.  My previous set were pretty haggard from years of use before they were under water, so I used this as an opportunity to get some new ones complete with an internal resistance unit.  No idea what the resistance medium is, but they feel good and the flared barrels do keep me centered better than their predecessors.

Last noteworthy component is my PowerTap.  Gauging effort indoors is nearly impossible without some measuring device, and the PowerTap makes sure I'm working hard enough for it to be worthwhile.  After having one for the last few seasons I don't know what I'd do without my PowerTap, or LeistungAbstich as I prefer to call it.

Memorial Weekend Power File

 

Over the Memorial Day weekend I got three rides in- one went well, one went poorly and another went OK.  

That Saturday I took the RSL out for its second ride with the intention of  getting in 2.5-3 hours at tempo pace.  Every trail system was either under water or completely swamped, so I did an extended dirt road warm up and headed for the usual wet weather refuge- Cotton Brook.  The trails at Cotton Brook are really the old roads that serviced the houses on Ricker Mountain before the Waterbury Reservoir was put in during the 1930's.  The gravel surface sheds water well and is rideable when other places aren't.  There are still some homesites, cellar holes and old farm tractors rusting in the woods.  

After about 40 minutes the skies opened up and my new RSL and I got soaked to the bone.  My spirits were slightly dampened, but as I waited for the torrent to subside the thunder rolled in, and that was the end of my day.  Fortunately I was near the car.

Sunday I spent the day at a Memorial Day parade- one of the smallest I've ever seen, and hung out under a large tent trying to avoid the sun, heat, cold beer and hot dogs.  I didn't have any beer (which was hard), I spent most of the day under the tent but still got a sunburn on my neckline.  Eventually I gave in and ate a hot dog.  I do love my junk meat.  

At around 5:00 PM it was still over 80 degrees when I left for my ride.  I really hadn't had a break from the heat since mid-morning when I stuck my head into the ice bin at the convenience store as I pretended to deliberate about whether chipped or cubed ice would be more appropriate for my afternoon adventures.  

My legs felt stiff and weak, and as I turned the pedals I felt like I had borrowed someone else's body for the day.  Normally I can handle the heat, but in late May I was not ready for it and I suffered over the steep undulating roads of Addison County to the top of Brandon Gap.  I refer to Route 73 as the Orwell Ardennes because the short, steep roads wind their way through wind-swept farmland, much like I expect Belgium to be.  The overall vertical gain is minimal, but a race on these roads would absolutely shred the peloton.  

When I got back to the house I was a mess, and my mother-in-law encouraged me to jump in the pond to cool off.  After minimal deliberation, I jumped in still wearing my bib shorts, though I lowered the shoulder straps.

Then came Monday, and somehow the original plan to ride 85 miles home seemed completely overwhelming even after two Red Bulls.  Two hours later I had planned out a route and started the task of getting ready.  Bottles were filled, chamois were put on and sunscreen was slathered.  

After two sub-par days in the saddle, this proved to be the best ride of the weekend.  I took a more circuitous but less hilly route to start, then worked my way down through Brandon towards West Rutland on some of the most amazing roads I've ever ridden.  Minimal traffic is common for Vermont, but pristine pavement isn't, and I had found both.  The miles ticked by as I spun past farms, homesteads and the occasional trailer park.  

About halfway through the ride- at the furthest point from the house- I started to lose ambition.  The pedals were turning more slowly, and my progress became arduous.  I was ready to stop riding, but had two more hours to go.  I pushed through, and was glad I did.  

You can see the power file for that ride above.  It was a good ride, even though the numbers are very uninspiring. 

 

Measuring Stick

 

There are many ways to measure performance.  Some are direct and quantifiable like your weight on a scale or functional threshold power, while others are more subjective like how you feel on a ride or whether or not you can get on top of the right gear.  We all use some combination of these measures to assess our condition. 

One of my key numbers is my time climbing the Bolton Valley access road.  The 4+ mile climb averages over 10% grade and has extended sections that get as steep as 17%.  In my opinion it is the toughest paved climb in the state of Vermont. 

I have a long and complicated relationship with Bolton.  As a collegiate racer I did several XC events there, and my results were never inspiring.  The courses were littered with climbs and freshly cut, root-infested, tough, slippery singletrack. 

My first attempt to ride up the access road was a tough one, and I ended up taking a very long time to get all the way to the top, grinding and standing on my 39 x 25 low gear.  Two years later I would try it again and would have a much easier time getting to the top, though I did it more for the feeling of accomplishment than for a time as I didn’t take note of how long it took.

All of that changed in 2009 when Spinney called me to go for a ride "to Bolton".  When I talk about a ride to Bolton it's usually just to the Bolton Town Hall on Route 2 and back- an easy 45 minute spin.  "Sure," I told Spinney.  "I'll go."

When we met up for the ride I realized he meant climbing to the top of the access road, not just riding to the town and tackling the roughly 200 feet of vertical gain over 14 miles.  No, we were going all the way to the top, all 4 miles and all 1700 vertical feet. 

I plodded, tacked, and pried the pedals for almost an hour getting to the top, but I got there without stopping.  It was a turning point- I knew I could do it, and I knew if I had lower gearing I could go faster.

Over the course of that summer I made several more attempts on the climb and set a new personal record almost 15 minutes faster than the ascent earlier in the spring.  Over the course of 2010 I continued to make regular efforts and set a new PR in August that was 90 seconds faster than my previous best.

Yesterday I tried again.   I had already climbed it once several weeks ago when the snow was still melting off and with a 12 x 25 cassette.  It went reasonably well as I established my second-best ever time, a remarkably good sign for April.

On Wednesday I'd done a short, hard ride where I rode home into the wind to avoid and oncoming thunder storm.  I was only out for 90 minutes, but the intense wind and desire to stay as dry as possible made it a modest effort.  With some sense of fatigue I swapped out my cassette for the hill smashing 11 x 26 and headed out.

I didn’t feel great, but I didn’t think I was going to explode  either.  It was hot- over 80 degrees at the start, and much warmer than I was accustomed to.  At a deliberate pace I made my way up the climb and stayed seated as much as possible, standing only when necessary. 

The result of my effort was a new second-best time, although I prefer to view it as my new early season record.  Next month I'll try it again, and I won't burn so many matches the day before. 

Less Than Optimal

Things just have a way of unraveling. 

This past week weather, work and family all conspired against me.  In a near-perfect alignment of factors I had a very tough time getting out on the bike with any regularity and for any duration.  I don't say that to complain or to solicit sympathy, but I think it's a pretty common experience for anyone committed to being a competitive cyclist.

The short version is that I've been traveling a lot over the last ten days between a weekend trip to NYC, a business trip to Chicago and Milwaukee from Monday to Friday, and then a family Easter weekend Saturday afternoon and Sunday.  During that window my opportunities to ride were extremely limited as I was traveling or talking/mingling/boozing on top of my normal work week schedule. 

At every turn I made an effort to stay relaxed and flexible  to manage each obstacle as it appeared, knowing that I'd be able to get back to riding soon enough.  I ended up giving myself some slack with the idea that I still have over a month to prepare for my first race, and that any losses in fitness would be minor and relatively brief.

With all of that rattling around in my mind I set off on a lengthy outdoor ride at 5:00 PM yesterday.  After a sleepless night in an 80 degree guest room, Easter dinner and some heaping handfuls of jelly beans  I finally got my act together so that I could stick to the plan of getting a head start on riding home; Carrie had planned to leave later and follow me on my route so she could pick me up on her way through.  

Normally operations like  that require a degree of precision.  Timing who needs to be where and when on which route is critical information when you're trying to arrange a rendezvous at some midpoint between either end of the journey.  Those calculations are best made with a map, slide rule and a quick review of 10th grade mathematics, and not on a Sunday afternoon after a couple gin & tonics.

With all of that in mind I got dressed for my ride, and quickly realized that I had forgotten my arm warmers and had neither bottles nor drink mix to fill them.  This was going to require some creative apparel combination and a trip to local convenience store.  20 minutes and $5 later I was wearing a long sleeve winter jersey and had procured my fuel for the ride: a 20 oz Coke, a pop tart and two 20 oz bottles of Gatorade.  As I stuffed the Gatorade bottles into my bottle cages I patted myself on the back for having the presence of mind to choose cages that could also carry non-standard bottles in emergency cases like  this.  Of course I'd put myself in this situation by forgetting bottles and GU Brew in the first place, so it wasn't really a win.

As I pedaled along the miles started to slip by and I found a groove partly out of necessity and partly because I was glad to have put the week's events behind me.  Daylight was fading and I knew I had to work to get my ride in and I was intent on making the most of it.

About 75 minutes into the ride I contemplated how well I was going to handle the effort when my recent activities caught up with me.  Fortunately I had a backup plan, namely that Carrie was coming along behind  so if I completely derailed I could always pull over and wait for the sag wagon. 

That moment never came, and somehow I felt great.  I wouldn't recommend the Coke and pop tart regimen but it worked fine for me yesterday, and it taught me a valuable lesson: be flexible, play the hand you're dealt and make the best of it. 

It's easy to have a good day when you can sleep in your own bed, eat your normal breakfast and ride a route you know well, but how often does it go like that on race day?  There's always something that breaks, something you forgot or some other unforeseen gotcha.  The key is to not let it ruin your day.  Being prepared is as much mental as it is physical.

The carrot for me is that I know the trails will be dry soon and I'll be able to ride in the woods.  My new RSL race bike is in transit and scheduled to arrive this week, so I have things to look forward to. 

Those are two bright spots to keep things in perspective. 

The Message

 Last fall, I decided that I was going to make the effort to get my elite racing license.  On paper, I race in one category below the elite riders.  Although it seems like a small step, in reality it's a huge difference.

After I made the decision, I  told a handful of friends and family members about it.  Everyone was supportive and enthusiastic, but I think few people really knew how hard it would be.  I'm not even sure that I knew myself. 

One of my friends who did know was John.  In college he put a massive amount of energy into his racing career, first on the mountain bike, and later on the road.  Through his own mix of analysis, determination and work ethic he worked his way up through the ranks and won some big regional events. 

A few years and several new responsibilities later John is still riding, but not actively competing beyond an occasional cyclosportif.  When I visited him earlier this year there were some very obvious ironies, primarily that  John had the fitness while I had the goals.  When we rode together, John was always stronger, especially on the uphills. 

It wasn't that I was terribly out of shape, as I'd spent the winter skiing.  All things considered I felt pretty strong, but in early March I clearly didn't have much mileage under my belt, and certainly not outdoor mileage. 

During my two-week trip we did a ton of riding, roughly 300 miles with over twenty thousand feet of vertical gain.  I've posted many pictures from those rides and I'll remember them for years, but what the pictures don't show is what really happened during that trip. 

Whether knowingly or not, John pulled me along for most of those rides.  I never bailed or gave up, but I certainly didn't set the world on fire.  He'd ride ahead, and I'd push myself to keep up.  The power files reveal that the pace wasn't entirely above what I was capable of, but it was a stretch, and that was the point.  If I wanted to get faster I had to push it and ride at a pace above what I thought I could handle. 

I didn't put it all together until I'd gotten home and had a few days of rest before getting out for a ride on familiar roads.  More than anything else I felt fast, and I felt purposeful. 

The feeling of being "in form" is hard to articulate to non-cyclists, but it's basically  the difference between having everything go right compared to feeling like you can't get out of your own way.  You don't feel invincible, and you don't even necessarily ride that much faster than normal, but inside your head there's the incredible feeling that things have fallen into place and you're being rewarded for all of your hard work. 

This past Thursday I did one of my normal mid-week training loops.  My original intent was to do the loop at a reasonable pace and make it home before dark.  As the miles slipped by I realized that at I was flying along while staying within my predetermined pace and within striking distance of my PR for the loop. 

By my calculations I took over a minute off of the mark I'd made six years ago when I was arguably in the best shape of my life.  I've had other good days on the bike and have set other benchmarks, but when I think back on that ride it always seems like it was a fluke.  One hour and twenty-seven minutes were possible for a mostly flat 28-mile loop, and it meant an average speed over 19 miles an hour, solo, on a standard road bike with no aero equipment.  That's not Herculean, nor barely average for any self-respecting middle category road racer.  For me it's a big deal, and a step in the right direction as I slowly prepare to compete this spring. 

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, John's message was clear--you can do this, but you need to work and you need to push yourself.  All at once it was encouraging and supportive, but delivered with an honesty that I'd shielded myself from when I looked in the mirror.  More than anything else, it was what I needed, and it's not something I will soon forget. 

Col de la Madone

Rising above the principality of Monaco is the climb up the Col de la Madone.  Most Americans will recognize it as the namesake of Trek's flagship road bike for the last ten years.  Madone has never been used in the Tour de France or Paris Nice and is only known because Lance used it as a training ride when he lived in Nice.

We climbed basically from sea level to about 900 vertical meters within a few short miles.  The grade is consistent and remarkably not terribly steep.  It's hard to compare the European climbs I've done to anything in Vermont- they're much less steep but far longer; there weren't any sections that were nearly as steep as Bolton or the summit of App Gap from the Bristol side.

I run a compact 34/50 up front, and normally I use an 11-23 for most riding and switch to a cassette with a 25 or 26 for steep sections.  I only had room in my bag for one cassette for this trip so I went for the do-it-all 11-26 Red Powerdome cassette and was really glad I did.  I spent a lot of time in the 26 today, but I never felt like I wanted anything lower (unlike Bolton).

John stumbled upon a blog from a French guy using the Moon Rider handle.  He's running a 34/28 low gear and I officially apologized today for ever giving him any shit for pushing such a low ratio.

Here's the power file from just the Col de la Madone.  Pictures to follow.

The Mediterranean

Today was a 100 mile, 3 Col day around Toulon, Grimaud and St Tropez.  This picture was taken overlooking Grimaud.  French President Nicola Sarkozy's chateau on the Mediterranean is a small point that sticks out into the water outside the frame of the picture. 

I didn't notice it at the time, but the Grass Moots team jersey is pretty close to Mediterranean blue.  

Here I am with our Swedish friend Matthias.  We're debating whether it's better to pull in nose first versus backing into parking spots.

Here's my power profile.  I was pretty much pinned the whole time, and had to really turn myself inside out to make it all 100 miles.

Whole. Lot. Of Nothing.

We stopped around mile 80 for a baguette and a Coke.  I inhaled both.

Toulon, Ride #3

Today the plan was to do a short ride to preview the first climb in tomorrow's long ride.  Long and short are relative considering this is my fourth ride outside this season.

This is the view from John's balcony.  The RC Toulon Rugby stadium is in the center of the frame.  Note the stuffed tiger and Lay-oh-pard (that's for you, Andy Schleck) in the window on the right.  Not sure what's going on there.

We headed out with Matthias, a Swede who's working on a doctoral program in town.

Matthias on the left in the green kit, John on the right on the Hinacapie development kit.  John's asking Matthias what he prefers for his post-ride Aperitive.  

This was pretty much my day- riding behind two skinny guys trying not to get dropped.

Tourists.

Alright, I took a picture of it, too.

Somehow after feeling like I turned myself inside out for 5 hours I still have little to show for it on the power tap.

What's so interesting about that?  Nothing, other than almost 3,000 kilojoules of work, which for March is unheard of for me.  Normally this time of year I'm skiing, riding the rollers as much as I can stand and trying to avoid Carrie's chocolate chip cookie dough stashed in the fridge.  That's usually all on the same day.

Best Laid Plans...

So Wednesday's workouts went well- 40 minute run at lunch time, then 90 minutes on the rollers after work. The run was tough not because of the length or intensity, but because I suck at running. The rollers were fine, and between the PowerTap and wireless headphones I was able to get in the zone.

All of this set the stage for being completely smoked for my masters' ski group on Thursday.

The drive over featured this sunset behind Camel's Hump.


This was my first week skiing with the fast group, and that meant that my instructors were two local collegiate ski racers home for Christmas break. Both guys were what you'd expect from collegiate athletes- young, talented, and massively fast, but also good at passing along some of their wisdom from years of experience.

As soon as we started to skate out on our first loop I knew that I was going to have push to stay with the group. The fatigue of Wendesday's workouts and being rusty from not being on snow for over a week combined to make it a challenge. Needless to say I was spent when I took off my skis 90 minutes later and collapsed into the drivers seat of my car.

Of course this is New Year's Week, so I was fortunate to have Friday off, yet somehow I failed to realize how completely shattered I'd be if I set up a big midweek workout, masters skiing and then three big ski/combo days on the long weekend.

Friday morning I knew I'd take the day off and was disappointed at my lack of plan. My only option was to head out to a friend's New Years Party and drown my "sorrows" in alcohol. Sometimes being unstructured can backfire.

My approach went from not having a plan, then feeling I had the wrong plan and feeling bad about it, then having a hangover Saturday morning, then realizing that the weather wasn't going to be conducive to anything except nursing a hangover and feeling like I somehow unwittingly made the right decision.

Every year there are a string of warm, snow melting days in late December or January and this year's is right now. Overcast skies and temperatures in the 40's have decimated what little snow we did have. Even the best maintained nordic areas are pretty hagard as I found out first hand after a futile 12 minute attempt at "skiing." Skiing is in quotes because it was really more about dodging rocks and bare patches than actual skiing. My only recourse? 90 minutes on the rollers with my good pals Powertap and wireless headphones.

I've resolved to make Sunday's workout a good one. I wish it could be on skis, but it'll have to be a run/bike brick.

2010 Season Analysis: Power Output Part 2

The downside of ending your season on a low point is the lingering aftertaste of a poor performance. I won't race my mountain bike again until May, and that's six months away, so I have six months to let the memories of a poor last race rattle around in my head.

I've defined mountain bike racing as my primary goal, and my mountain bike results this year were pretty good. When I look at my season like that I feel like Al Franken's Stuart Smalley character from Saturday Night Live with his empty self-important affirmations like "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me!"

In previous posts I've mentioned my Powertap and there's no question that it's been a huge asset for me and has helped me improve over the last two seasons. The downside of having it on the road bike is that I get an incomplete picture of my summer fitness because 40-60% of my rides, most of my hard efforts and all of my races are on the mountain bike.

Looking back, I think my ride on September 11, ironically enough, was one of my best of the season. I stormed up the climb to Trapps and felt like I was flying. My plan was to race that weekend, but a mild concussion and a severely bruised nose earlier in the week derailed my plans. If I had made it out to the race I would have had incredible form, but that's still not a guarantee of performance since any number of external factors can keep an athlete from performing up to their potential on a given day.

Here's a look at my power graph for that day. You can see that I set a new record for 10 minute power which was recorded on the ascent of Trapp Hill Road.

When I compare those numbers to my earlier post you can see that my short term power output was way lower in November than it was in September. Considering that 'cross is all about short term power it's really no surprise that my results started to slide as well. This is only a piece of the puzzle, but it's interesting to note the difference in some fitness indicators before two very different performances. The 10 minute power output from that ride is also from the ascent of Trapp Hill Road and it's pretty far from my best.