Training partners

Back when I was 10 or 15 years old, daytime track suits became all the rage for the couch potato elite. Moreover, it wasn't uncommon to see a husband and wife walking from the car to the store entrance wearing identical pants and jackets, as though they were only stopping off at Costco on their way to a 400 m relay race. I used to think to myself that I would never, ever wear the same clothing or accessories as my significant other. Unless, of course, they (both the significant other and the accessories) were really, really cool.

I've been in need of a new pair of sports sunglasses for some time. I lost my five year-old Cebe running sunglasses on my recent vacation (though they still might turn up in my travel bag at some point), and I needed to supplement my Bolle cycling sunglasses that are too dark and therefore hazardous on early mornings and/or cloudy days. In spite of the fact that my Cebes were scratched, had relatively poor clarity, and were terribly out of fashion, I'm still a bit sad to have lost them.

I recall the day I bought my Cebes; more accurately, I recall the day I purchased their predecessor. I had taken up running with some seriousness in the fall/winter of 2003 and, by the time April rolled around, I realized that my newly acquired running habit had morphed into a springtime one. Within weeks, I found myself in want of shorter sleeves, shorts, and shades. Zdenek and I had been dating for only a few months at the time and, freshly in love, we did everything as a unit (some things never change). When it came time to buy new sunglasses, he and I did it together by heading to Mountain Equipment Co-op, that Canadian one-stop-shop for all outdoor necessities. We decided on a pair of black framed Cebes that were, on his student and my post-doc salaries, a splurge.

It was only a few short months later that my previously referenced bicycle accident destroyed my new sunglasses. It was a good thing I was wearing them because the deep scratches across the lenses surely saved my eyes and face from the same fate. When I was barely mobile again, Zdenek and I headed back to MEC to purchase replacement glasses. And because Zdenek had developed a liking for my shades, we purchased two pairs that day. My replacement pair served me well during 5+ years of running, and, more significantly, represented the first in a long line of items for which Zdenek and I have purchased a his and hers set. Since then, our wardrobe has expanded to include identical running hats, Lulu jackets, Lulu pants, cycling shoes, and cycling socks, to name but a few.

In keeping with our motto that "if one is good, one for each of us must be better," this past weekend Zdenek and I headed to SoHo, that New York one-stop-shop for all things fashionable. We visited the Oakley store to purchase two pairs of Jawbones (popularized by Lance in this year's Tour). Zdenek took the white pair, I choose the black. Within 24 hours, however, buyers remorse set in, and I deemed the glasses too big and bulky for my face. Another trip to SoHo earlier this week replaced mine with this gorgeous pair of XLJ Flak Jackets (colour: "root beer"). For the first time in five years, Zdenek and I will be sporting different shades.

Last weekend, during our ride to Piermont, Caitlin apparently (I didn't hear it) commented to Zdenek that, to an outsider, it's obvious that he and I train together. I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I assumed at the time that it had something to do with the comfort with which I follow his wheel or the ease with which we ride beside one another. Thinking about it more, however, it occurs to me that there might have been an alternate explanation. At least we're now distinguishable from the neck up.

All in a day

Thursday was a perfect day. Three great men, all in 24 hours.

It started with a morning run in the Park that I almost skipped. Two miles in, just as I was reaching the top of Cat Hill, I saw someone running toward me who clearly looked different from the hundreds of other runners I see every single day. I can't say what it was about him that caught my eye, but he ran with a purpose and perfection that I have seldom, if ever, seen in a fellow Central Park runner. As he sped past me (at an estimated 5 min/mile pace), I immediately recognized America's number one marathoner. I grinned. I got goosebumps. I turned my head and watched him as long as I could, but at that pace, he moved away from me quickly and was soon out of sight altogether. It's not everyday that I share my running course with Ryan Hall, and this all-too-brief celebrity sighting motivated me to add an extra mile onto my morning loop.

Thursday evening, it was a different kind of runner who gave me gooesebumps. This one was in the center of 85,000 screaming fans, sporting tight black pants and a black leather jacket. He ran circles around the stage, singing and entertaining all the while. As a teenager, he was my obsession; today, he's simply my favourite. He didn't run quite as well as Ryan, but for two and a half hours he put a smile on my face as I belted out lyrics from fifty rows up. After all these years, U2 is still the greatest act in the world, and Bono is still the greatest frontman.

But the most outstanding man of the day didn't run at all on Thursday. (He did, however, bike in the morning, and later that day he chauffeured my friends and me to and from the concert.) He is my biggest fan and strongest supporter. He listens (though he also loves to talk!) and always gives me excellent advice. He is my running partner, my cycling buddy, and my favourite conversationalist. He is the one person to whom I want to tell everything, and the only person from whom I never need a break. He is the subject of so many different posts on this blog that I sometimes wonder what I would write about if he were not in my life. On Thursday, he and I marked our four year anniversary, and I am so excited to keep moving forward with him in the years to come.

A significant climb

I feel as though lately I've come across a disproportionate number of articles telling me that, despite all of the opportunities and choices before us, women in our society are still having a tough time. An OpEd piece in this weekend's NYTimes summarized a few (rather depressing) studies suggesting that, while men get happier with age, women actually become unhappier. Clearly this piece resonated with a lot of readers, because it wound up as the most emailed story on the NYTimes website within 48 hours. Another piece in this morning's Globe and Mail, which I read over my morning cup of coffee, reminded me that women still face systemic discrimination in the workplace, and many women who climb the corporate ladder will eventually opt to get off it altogether. I barely had time to digest the possible reasons for or implications of this before an email arrived in my inbox, alerting me that one successful woman whom I know is, indeed, exercising that option. Is it really true, as these newspaper articles would have us believe, that "the further up a woman climbs, the lonelier she's going to be"?

I'm no sociologist or other expert on these matters, and I'm not in any position to opine on whether these statistics reveal a depressing truth about whether today's woman can really "have it all." I'm not even sure that I, personally, have sufficient life experiences to definitively say whether I currently, or will eventually, count myself among the growing cohort of unhappy and disillusioned women. I did, however, have an interesting experience this morning that, even independently of these news pieces, got me thinking about the differences between the sexes, and how I react to them.

Zdenek and I got one loop in together this morning before he was forced to head home with a punctured tire. We'd only been out for 20 minutes, and since it seemed a waste to get out of bed that early for such a short workout, I stayed in the Park to do another loop or two on my own. I wasn't feeling particularly energetic this morning; indeed, on the first loop, Zdenek and I agreed to just take it easy today. But once I was on my own, my mindset shifted slightly. I realized, as I often do, that I was one of the few women cyclists in the Park (on this weekend's ride to and from Piermont, Caitlin and I saw only one other woman on the whole trip). Obviously there are plenty of recreational and professional women cyclists out there, but I think it's fair to say that they are in the minority. I am not sure why cycling is more attractive or accessible to men. I have a few pet theories, but will leave those for another post.

But I digress. This morning, a few minutes into my first solo loop, I had the urge to push the pace on my own. It was partly a test of my abilities -- physical and mental -- without Zdenek by my side or leading the way. Once I began going hard, though, it seemed like a failure to allow my speed to drop, and so I forced myself to keep at it. Just before the north end of the Park, a group of 10 or 12 men in matching team jerseys flew past me, and about a half-mile later, I caught up to them near the bottom of Harlem Hill. I stuck to my pace, thinking I might get an assisted ride up the hill by staying behind them. Within seconds, though, I had to go around them, lest I slow my pace. Before I knew it, I was charging up the hill, putting more sweat and pain into the ascent than I have ever done, with or without Zdenek. My legs were burning, my breathing heavy. I focused on my cadence. I forced myself to maintain my speed.

Do not let them see you slow down. Keep going. You passed them; do not let them pass you. Do not be "just a girl."

I can say with pride that I emerged victorious on that climb. I made it up in record time with maximum effort, and the work was mine and mine alone. But as I crested the top, I realized that passing a group of men had brought out a competitive, yet defensive, side of me. I can't say for certain, but if it had been a team of women cyclists, I think I would have been more content to stay near the back. If Zdenek had been with me at all, I would have had a good excuse to ignore the other riders -- as I often do -- because I would have had a partner to focus on.

But when I realized that it was just me versus the boys, and that I had even a small chance of passing -- and beating -- them, I was forced to seize it. While I know that they probably weren't trying very hard and that they could have easily put the hammer down if they so desired, the fact is, they didn't. I did. And once I made my move, I wasn't going to let them pass me, because that would make me "just a girl." There may be some truth to the notion that the further up a woman goes, the lonelier she's going to be. But sometimes, the climb is worth it.

Cheese-y memories

Is there anything more satisfying than digging in to a greasy, cheese-y, thin crust slice of New York pizza on a sunny, warm, autumn afternoon, after running 16.5 miles for no reason whatsoever than the want to be outdoors on a perfect morning? I'm not certain that there is.

To be sure, I exhausted myself over the last 48 hours. We rode a respectable 40+ miles in sunny, but somewhat chilly, weather on Saturday morning; my long run this morning could have gone even longer if only I'd brought another gel to power me through an extra few miles; and, peppered in between, we indulged in two decadent Italian feasts on the Upper West Side and in the West Village.

I didn't need to run 16+ miles today, especially after yesterday's ride, but I'm glad that I did. It's on weekends like this that I really miss the demands of hard workouts dictated by a training plan from which I dare not deviate. I miss the zone that's only entered after 13 or 14 miles of running; I miss the sore, tight legs that remind me of a job well done; I miss the sense of total exhaustion. I miss saying "goodbye" to Zdenek after running together for two loops, knowing that I'm on my own for the next one but that, when I meet him back at home, the coffee will be brewed and the pancake batter ready to hit the hot pan the moment I turn on the shower. I miss eating a breakfast (with generous use of Nutella) three times the size of that enjoyed on any other weekday, only to be complaining two hours later that I'm hungry. I miss heading out for a mid-afternoon slice of pizza.

On Friday, I received notice in the mail that my 2009 Boston Marathon entry has been automatically rolled over to 2010. I'm not sure if I'll return to Beantown in 2010, but it is tempting. I salivate just thinking of all the guilt-free pizza I could enjoy this winter.

90/10

Today Zdenek and I woke up, tired and groggy as ever, and a bike ride in the darkness of the early morning seemed very unappealing. With our flashing LED lights and extra layers under our jerseys, we headed to the Park. It was cold and blustery out, and I figured the ensuing ride would be a poor one indeed.

The winds were strong and the air was cool, but Zdenek immediately took the lead. I stayed right on his tail, and for eight miles we rode like this. But midway into our second lap, after a moment's consideration, I suprised him by getting into my drops, gearing up, and passing, thereby giving him a 90 second reprieve from the headwind. My legs burned and, even though I was soon tucked safely into his slipstream once again, I had to work especially hard on the next big hill to keep up. By the third lap, Zdenek wasn't too proud to ask me to move ahead and take the lead, and so I obliged, again for about 90 seconds. Fortunately, my short efforts allowed him to rest just enough to lead us to success: we completed today's ride in one of our fastest times ever! Today we worked as a fluid team.

What a casual observer might not realize is that, although Zdenek led for 90% of the time, the two or three minutes during which I allowed him to rest were instrumental to our success. As he said, he couldn't have done it without the 10% of the time that I led, and I certainly could not have done it without his 90%.

They say that a successful marriage is a 90/10 proposition. That is, you are giving 90%, and receiving only 10%. Crucially, though, as I realized on today's ride, the 90/10 probably refers to effort, and not necessarily time. We each have our strengths, and, depending on the task, our abilities and endurance differ greatly from those of our partner. But even the leader needs a helping hand from time to time, and that little bit of assistance can mean the difference between merely getting by and truly excelling. Today we each gave our own version of 90%.

Because no one told me to

I remember clearly the day that I decided to become a cyclist. It was in February 2008, and I was in the midst of training for the Shamrock Virginia Beach marathon. An unusually warm and sunny Sunday afternoon found Zdenek and me walking through Central Park; my designated long run had been completed the day prior. As runners weaved through us and around us, I felt smug and secure in the knowledge that I had already ticked that box for the week.

Suddenly, as if for the first time, I noticed the many cyclists, eager to take advantage of an early spring day, speeding past. It's not as though I hadn't seen hundreds, if not thousands, of cyclists over the last three years while running in Central Park. It's not as though it hadn't occurred to me many times that it would be beneficial (for both body and mind) to have in my repertoire an equally challenging and accessible cross-training activity to supplement my running. And it's not as though Zdenek wasn't already an enthusiastic rider and Tour-watcher long before I ever met him.

But I had never had even the slightest desire to get on a bike in the last four years: in the summer of 2004, I rode a friend's bike for all of three minutes before landing myself a free ride in an ambulance. Since that day, I made no secret of the fact that I was not eager to repeat the experience and that I may never get on a bicycle again. Nevertheless, on that February day last year, something about the fact that I thought I would never be a cyclist made the idea of actually becoming one irresistably appealing. Around W 90th Street I announced my intention to Zdenek, who was rightfully shocked but no doubt thrilled (I still loathe golf). We purchased my little red Giant within weeks.

The point is, I am not the type of person with whom nagging or suggestion is effective. I decide, on my own terms, how, when, where, and what I will do. It's partly stubbornness, and partly an unwillingness (stubbornness?) to follow the crowd. I can cite numerous examples of times that I have taken the path less traveled simply to be difficult:

• When I was ten years old, I saw a lady playing the flute in church one Sunday. All the children I knew played either the guitar or the piano. I knew nothing about the flute, other than that I suddenly wanted to play it. I announced that day to my mom that I wanted to buy a flute and enroll in lessons immediately.
  
• I refused to attend my high school graduation, simply because (as expected) everyone else was attending it.
  
• I decided to pursue biology in university because I liked it but, more importantly, there are no other scientists in my family.
  
• I settled on plant biology because, among the 800 biology students in my year, only three others were registered in this major.
  
• I took up marathoning with gusto and zeal because I found it incredibly appealing that I didn't know many marathoners at all.

And the list goes on.

I'm thinking of this little quirk of mine because of an unusual thing that Zdenek said to me on around mile 10 of our 12 mile run on Saturday: "Thank you for turning me into a runner." The truth is, I never turned Zdenek into anything. I did, however, ask before almost every run over the past five years whether he'd like to join me, knowing full well that the answer would usually be "no." But somewhere along the way, the negative responses were replaced by an increasing number of nods, and suddenly I had a dedicated training partner and half-marathoner for a husband.

I never really turned Zdenek into a runner, just as he never turned me into a cyclist. But it seems that where most people would be attracted to things that others are doing and seemingly enjoying, I seem to enjoy being attracted to those things that no one else knows or cares about (sometimes for good reason). I'm not, of course, suggesting that I'm some sort of revolutionary or explorer or adventurer -- I still take comfort in the familiar and don't like putting myself in unusual or uncertain situations. I also know that most people get excited by trying new things. And it's not that I am uninterested in something just because it is or becomes popular among the masses. But when it comes to committing myself to something new, I simply am not one to be easily persuaded. Worse, if I ever feel like it might appear as though I am being coerced into something, I will do the opposite only to prove that I am not.

Zdenek had his good reasons for becoming a runner, and I had my slightly odder ones for becoming a cyclist. Either way, two things are clear: (1) resolve and dedication can come only from within, and (2) the next activity I dedicate myself to should come as a surprise to everyone, including me.

Seasoned

Coming back from vacation is never the greatest feeling in the world, but this week is turning out to be slightly more difficult than most. I'm still dealing with the combined effects of jetlag and an accumulated sleep deficit and, to make matters worse, I haven't seen more than a few minutes of sunshine since being back in New York City. The forecast over the next few days calls for a mix of sun, clouds, and rain (my favourite).

Although we were away for only nine days, it's obvious that this was just long enough for summer to drift away and fall to creep in. The air is definitely chillier (though slightly less humid), and I've worn a sweater to work twice this week. I feel like it was only yesterday that I hailed the arrival of spring, and suddenly I find myself two seasons later. Autumn in New York -- characterized by brilliant colours, cooler temperatures, and the odd day filled with sunshine and warmth -- is possibly the most enjoyable time of year. It also marks, however, the beginning of increasingly late sunrises and early sunsets. This might not present much of a problem if I were happy to roll out of bed at 7:30 am and head to work, but over the past few months, Zdenek and I have become accustomed to 5:30 am wake-up calls and early morning rides in Central Park. It has become a treasured and favourite part of our daily routine and, indeed, provided much fodder for this blog.

Sadly, my little red Giant has sat idle all week long, bringing her to almost two full weeks of stationary neglect. The alarm has still gone off at 5:30 am every day this week, but in the pitch blackness of our room, our response has consisted of a disgruntled groan and opting for another hour of sleep. It is near impossible to motivate myself to get out of bed in the darkness of the morning to ride a bike, especially when my bike lacks a light. Running, maybe. Cycling? No way. And so I've been a little down this week, mourning the passing of another season, long days, sunshine, and cycling. This is, truth be told, pretty typical behaviour for me. I do not, for example, enjoy celebrating my birthday (one year closer to death and a reminder of everything I still haven't accomplished). I even loathe Fridays on occasion, because they signify another lost week among my finite allotment.

Nevertheless, over my recent vacation, I was encouraged by the discovery that some things really do get better with time. I used to laugh inwardly whenever I heard that life is better after 40, let alone that senior citizens are happier than their younger counterparts. I couldn't imagine that I'd rather be forty years older and greyer than I am today! But last week, my girlfriends and I busted our guts laughing at a 20 minute movie (thanks, Laura!) that took us through all the painful hairstyles, fashions, and boyfriends of our past 15 years together. Sure, we have a few more laugh lines and grey hairs, as well as reduced abilities to cope with hangovers these days. True, we're 15 years further on and there have undoubtedly been a few lost opportunities along the way. But it was clear from the photos of years past that, today, each one of us is more confident, aware, and beautiful than at any time during the last decade and a half. The passing of one season may make me melancholy, but the passing of 60 seasons seems to have served us well.

How to get rid of fruit flies (and other valuable lessons)

We're back in the Big Apple after a pretty-much-perfect holiday in Canada. This one more than made up for the constant driving and cloudy skies we experienced during our last visit north of the border. A few valuable lessons were learned over nine days in Calgary, Banff, and the Okanagan valley. Where possible, I've included some illustrative photos:

1. Calgary really is the sunniest place in Canada.

2. Even when a gondola is available to whisk you to the top, it's more fun to climb a mountain by foot.

3. The 10.5 mile run around the Glenmore Reservoir in Calgary is perfect in terms of distance, terrain, and scenery. It is more difficult the day after climbing a mountain than after a day of rest.

4. $75 worth of beef jerky (purchased at the shop behind us) may seem like a good idea at the time, but really, it's not.

5. Despite thousands of miles of physical separation and only getting together every 12 to 18 months, my friends and I can pick up where we left off every single time.

6. Four nights of hard partying is something better left to our selves of 15 years ago, but old habits die hard.

7. When confronted with clouds of fruit flies in your kitchen, a vacuum hose and a few drinks can make for video-game-like entertainment.

8. Classy is a state of mind.