Take Two Aspirin and Call Me in the Morning...

"Sir, those aren't chewables."

"I'll be the judge of that."

As people who race bikes, we talk a lot about how we feel. And, as a group who 'exercise and call it sport,' those conversations can range from excuse riddled lack-of-training cover ups to legitimate reports resulting from the various viruses and bed bugs the general populace stroll around with everyday.

Prior to 9 Mile, I didn't feel my best and, with Sam strolling around with Mono, played the denial game, deciding not to get looked at until I was back from Wisconsin.

Fast-forward to this week, blood draws and chats with your friendly doctor so-and-so. Has anything changed? Not really.

Poking and proding lead to some commentary that my glands were indeed swollen and that, yes, I likely had Mono (Damn it, Sam!). Of course, then the blood work came back negative (Oh, sorry, Sam.)

After that news was delivered, I got this.

"Well, you definately have something, that much is certain."

"But it's not Mono."

"No, ever had any allegry issues."

"No."

"Well, it might be that. We're going to put you on some Claritin."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we'll try that."

<>

"Do you want a prescription?"

"It's over the counter, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah."

"I think I'm good. Thanks." (For nothing.)

Since we're grasping at straws, my vote for What Ails the Snob? is cytomegalovirus. It's what Alessandro Ballan had that knocked him out of the classics and cemented the infamous World Champions curse for another year. Why? Because it fits my symptoms and, because it's more romantic than having some silly little flower be such a big impact.

Feel free to cast your vote. You can also offer sage wisdom, such as 'take two aspirin,' 'walk it off,' or 'rub some dirt on it.'

24 Hr Party People

You know, once you head out for a lap, you really have no idea what's going on in the pit. Ah, the madness of 24 racing.

I believe Carrie is "thanking" Sam for the polished War Axe belt buckle, but who knows.

Speechless...

24 Hrs of 9 Mile: No Sympathy for the Devil

"Wow.  You just don't have it right now, but it's a long race."

For eight hours of the 24 Hrs of 9 Mile, the angel on my shoulder kept whispering those words in my ear, so I tried to keep turning the pedals over with a hopeful eye on mimicking Constantine's resurrection from last year.  Of course, it didn't happen.

As we lined up from the start, I wished Aristotle luck, lined up behind eventual SS Solo winner the Ronsta, and looked around for Paddy's pink and white helmet.  I didn't see him at the start but 3/4 of the way through I heard a "Hey Fella" on my left and there he was.  I smiled, said something I don't recall and as we hit the bikes, split grabbed our steeds and I watched Paddy punch it to get ahead of traffic.  I went to follow but didn't have the gear or snap to really follow.  I yelled "Give'er Paddy" as he dropped away into the first single track turned my focus to the trail.

As I was finishing the lap, I knew I wasn't really firing well, but, remarkable for me was the fact that I had cleaned all of the courses technical sections pretty easily.  Something that had been a problem in the past, so there was the hope.  Stay smooth, handle the bike well until the legs came back.

Just before the end of a lap at 9 Mile you pop into a short single track section that's flat smooth and twisting.  I have always found it fun, but it was also dry to the bone and I washed out cruising around a turn.    No injuries, just something else to keep the governor on the machine.

The next four or five laps were essentially the same.  Good technically, but just no zip and the constant process of trying to figure out how to break out of the rut.  I came in at the end of four and said to Sam something to the effect of, "My lap times are pretty mediocre, aren't they?"  You could tell he was wondering what the right thing to say was but responded with a straight-forward 'yes' and objectively broke down how things were going.  

Lap six, at least I think it was six, unwound me.  

First, Chris and one of his Siren teammates passed me near the first aid station, but I unintentionally pulled them back on the subtle climb into what I think of as the first techie section of the course (I'm sure it has a name but I don't know it.)  As we climbed up and into the rocks, I was slowly reeling them in so I decided that I would see if I could get on a wheel before the rocks ended.  It was working and as we entered the gradual descent, I was nearly close enough to try to say something clever to Chris, when my front skewer popped loose and play time was over.   No big deal really, but then it was like someone kicked me in the nuts.

Second, and only a short time later, Paddy lapped me.  Which is not to say I expected to win the race or top him, I just never thought I would get lapped by anyone before dark.  

"So, you've got no snap, you're bummed you got passed by a guy running a 40x11 and you need to strap your balls balls back on." - Sam Rosenau dispenses love War Axe style.

So after another pit, some disappointed ranting and general wasted energies, I took back off and, somewhere along the way decided I needed to switch into "fun mode."  Fun Mode had a few bullet-points in it, such as the idea of some how blogging a lap.  I also envisioned it involved drinking, riding and hitting the jump at the first aid station but when I pitted and announced we were switching to Fun Mode, both John and Sam looked at me like I was half-baked and so, I just went back out.

My next to last lap remains memorable for one simple reason.  I crashed in a rock garden.  Near the end of the second technical section of the course, there was a line I kept taking to the far left that was not the standard route.  I couldn't tell you what I missed but, one moment I was upright, then my fork bottomed out and I was on the ground making those eerie unintentional groaning sounds people sometime make after a wreck.  My knee took a bit more of the impact then the rest of me, but I slowly sorted myself out and finished out the lap.

I feel like there should be more to relate about my last lap, but I don't have much.  I remember thinking none of the climbs were an issue, despite my knee not enjoying the efforts.  I remember water tasting like gold.  I remember the glands in my neck hurting with swallowing being tough and I remember fireworks going off at the Red Bud Rd aid station.  Otherwise, it was an anti-climatic end.  I sat down.  Sam told me something about the battle for 5th and 6th place and I fell asleep.  I know you can go back out even if you take a huge break, but it never really occurred to me.  To me, it was another DNF.  

It occurs to me now that every race I have done this season has ended with those three letters and I am a little unsure of what to say about that...

Off to figure out what comes next...

Tent City War Axe Style

Thanks to Nate at Monkey Wrench for the added pop-up. Our home away
from home is set.

Space Was Easy

I am sure race won't go quite so easily.

What You Need is Healthy, Natural Sleep

I'm feeling pretty worked.  However, the living room is lined with all the tools of the trade, save those Johnny and Sam are bringing, so there isn't much left to do but enjoy the madness of 24hr racing.

The race will be a bit different this year in that this is the first time I'll be going up without my family in tow.  It's a load off of my mind in some ways but is disappointing in others.  My kids won't get rundown pre-race as happened two years ago, but they also won't be around to bring out a smile when the tank is low.  

As you likely know, you can follow the doom-struck craziness on Granny Gear's website.  I'll likely put some pre-race pictures up but the mid-race updates will likely be few and far between without Mrs. Snob there to do some sideline reporting.  (Plus, Cameron, Craig and the boys from KC will be racing again and likely be right at the front.)  

Speaking of Mrs. Snob, she'll be rocking her first triathlon Sunday so I've tried to ban her from checking the updates so she sleeps properly.  However, I predict she ends up with a laptop in the bed.

Talk to you from the road, unless I will see you at the race.

Snob out.

"Sunday Morning Coming Down"

The roads were quiet this morning which I will take and enjoy every time.  Sam grabbed the Green Jersey in Denton.  I grabbed Polka Dots leaving and we said to hell with yellow.

This time next week I hope to pleasantly worked after 24 hours of riding.  No rainstorms, no hand issues, no bee stings or kid collisions pre-race; just a steady, workman-like 24.

Harmony In My Head

Spent some time out at Branched Oak today in order to find some trial rhythm leading into 9 Mile next weekend.  It wasn't long before I just wished I had gone to Platte as between the slight reroutes and huge ruts the idea of flow really seemed to be lost.  However, the quick ups and downs of that place are always a good gauge of where things stand and, while I have been under the weather lately, I think I will be in decent shape for next weekend.

There was a moment of drama with a horse rider that had me fearing that I'd be taking a guy to the hospital for a moment.  I came around a curve and two people on horses where coming up the single track in the other direction.  I wasn't going overly fast and was able to come to a stop quickly but one horse could have cared less and gave his rider a test of his skill.  I was off my bike in a beat, ready for the worst, but the guy dropped his body weight to the horse's back and rode it out.  It was fairly impressive.  

The riders apologized though I don't think it was really necessary.  I was just glad the guy stayed in the saddle.

This looks vaguely familiar... hmmm...

Cracks in the Armor

Think they would make it 24 hours?

Typical Questions. Usual Suspects

I think it's somewhat fair to say that Sam and Johnny humor me.

While experience has cut down on my "What do you think about this?" emails, I suspect they still have those moments when a fresh question hits their respective inboxes and they think, "Fuck, what now?" then sigh, double click and despite themselves type out a well-thought response.  Maybe it's just to get me to shut up, but it all saves me from a good portion of the mental gymnastics I tend to put myself through.

So tonight, it's fresh cleats on the shoes, a freshly Stan's wheel back on the IF (thanks Nate) and Cav taking another win with a ridiculous gesture at the line.  It'd be nice to see him take a page from the Barry Sanders touchdown celebration book and act like he's been there before.

Long time listener, first time caller...

Time Capsule

I always find vacations to be a bizarre sort of event psychologically.  Generally, I go through a weird sort of withdrawal for a few days, finally start to relax and then, once I am finally truly in a good frame of mind, it's time to go back to work.

Found in a Chicago Whole Foods store

My old neighborhood in Chicago had move several steps up on the 'nice' ladder.  It's been quite a while since I called Chicago home, but I was still amazed.  Amazed, and pleased to see how many bikes were cruising down Division at all hours of the day.

Outside of a Costa Rican restaurant

Then it was on to Michigan for several rides along some lake that is rumored to be of substantial size.  Big lake be damned, I thought these shots were nice too.

No WiFi

But somehow I am keeping busy...

"When Will We See the Lake?"

Tony asked me that around 100 meters from this on the day of the Rapha
M22 ride. That day, he only saw a cloud bank. Nothing like a clear
day.

... But then I Read Johnny's Blog

So tonight, I will raise a drink to a guy I didn't know and my friends
who were lucky enough to have said they did.

I Had This Post in Mind...

Millennium Park

Assorted Snobbery: Henry Rollins

"I don`t believe in fate or destiny. I believe in various degrees of hatred, paranoia, and abandonment. However much of that gets heaped upon you doesn`t matter - it`s only a matter of how much you can take and what it does to you."

The Swim Fan Challenge

Mrs. Snob and I have had an on-going debate for some time now in regard to swimming, which amounts to this:  Fitness versus Technique.

As a former lifeguard, she has always claimed that fitness cannot beat technique.  As an incredibly poor swimmer, who didn't actually even learn to swim until college (and generally too competitive jackass), I have always claimed I could 'beat her.'  

And there lies the rub.

We've consulted an expert.  Former State Finals swimmer Sam Rosenau, who has stated in no uncertain terms that I would get my ass handed to me.

However, the debate will soon come to an end.  With Mrs. Snob slated to do the XTERRA tri at Branched Oak Lake on August 15th, it seemed only appropriate to make the swim leg our own personal wager as well.

In this corner, you have Susan who is working through a training plan and thinking through transition times.  In the other, you have me who'll likely show up in pin-striped surf trunks and a head of hair that will hold ten pounds of water for drag.

Place your bets...