Harder Than I've Ever Been Hugged

I’ve been volunteering with my local high school mountain bike team for the past 2 months. Each week, I teach a hard, 90-minute, power-based indoor training session. Most of the kids are super-focused. A couple are a bit distracted. But all in all, we have a lot of fun together.

I like kids. I don’t have them and I’ve never wanted them. But I like them. They’re real.  They’re honest. They don’t play games. They want to please you.  And they love seeing results.

Las night, a new girl joined the team. She’s the daughter of the head coach’s co-worker and I was told in advance that she’s never participated in sports, doesn’t really exercise, and suffers from depression. She was a trooper and jumped right in. It was really challenging for her, but she stuck it out and completed the workout.

After training, we all discussed upcoming events and all the boys (yes, we have all boys on the team, except one other new girl who wasn’t there tonight) introduced themselves and they all chatted and laughed together.

As we were leaving, she lingered a bit and then ran up and hugged me harder than I’ve ever been hugged. I thought she might cry. She told me that she had so much fun and had never felt the way she felt during and after the workout.  I’m sure she didn’t know it, but she was experiencing that endorphin high that we all love.

I’m sure you’ve read articles that extoll the mental health benefits of exercise.  Physical activity will improve your mood, your memory, and your cognitive function.  As we age, it keeps us young.  For the young, it can keep them focused and combat the symptoms of ADHD.  For me, it relieves anxiety and depression.  It calms me when I’m wired and lifts me up when I’m down.

It doesn’t take much exercise to yield benefits.  30 minutes a day will improve your life.  The key is to make time for yourself on a consistent basis.  And who knows, you might feel like hugging someone, too!

fitness is my drug of choice

World AIDS Day Ride

Today is the 26th World AIDS Day.  This morning I participated in a WAD ride sponsored by Positive Pedalers, an international cycling club that focuses on erasing stigma of HIV/AIDS by being a positive presence in that community (and to those outside that community).  The ride was followed by a ceremony at the National AIDS Memorial Grove in Golden Gate Park.

2014 World AIDS Day Ride in San Francisco

I was a young adult in the 1980s.  I worked in theatre during these years, a community especially hard hit in the early years of HIV and AIDS.  I distinctly remember my first friend who shared his positive HIV/AIDS status with me.  His name was Wayne, he bore a striking resemblance to David Bowie, and I had a terrible crush on him.  I haven’t thought about Wayne in many years.  As I feared, a quick google search yields no results.

Wayne and I worked together on a children’s theatre tour in the Washington, DC metro area.  For 10 months, the two of us, along with three other actors, toured schools 5 days a week.  We travelled together, performing at two schools each day, in a van packed tightly with costumes, sets, and sound equipment.  The five of us became very close.

One day, sitting in a Burger King on lunch break, Wayne told us he had tested positive.  I remember thinking it was a death sentence.  I cried openly.  So did everyone else.  I held him close.  I wondered, since we weren’t very educated about transmission in those early days, if I could contract HIV because I had shared sodas and cigarettes with him.  But mostly, I was devastated.  I mourned, because he was symptomatic and I knew he would die.

Over the years, I’ve had countless friends and colleagues who were HIV positive.  I’ve known countless others who have died of AIDS.  It’s been a part of my entire adult life.

More than a decade later, in 1998, I moved to the San Francisco area.  Wanting to find a volunteer opportunity, I registered to participate in the California AIDS Ride, a 7-day, 600-mile bicycle ride that raised funds and awareness for the San Francisco AIDS Foundation.  When I registered, I did so because I wanted to improve my health and I wanted to feel a part of my community.  But, like many participants, as I trained and then completed the ride, it became more about HIV/AIDS than about me and my goals.  And what I learned through that experience was that there were many folks who lived with HIV and AIDS and also rode their bicycles in that event.  AIDS was no longer a death sentence.

There’s a prevailing feeling, especially among our youth, that AIDS is not dangerous.  It won’t kill you.  It’s a thing of the past.  There are drugs to treat it.  And that’s the demographic that’s seeing an increased diagnosis of HIV and AIDS.

So, today, I ask you to think about AIDS.  Remember that we’re still fighting this disease.  And, if you have the opportunity to influence a young person about the risks and prevention, please don’t hesitate to take action.

tears for fears

I rode my bike yesterday.  Yeah, I know, no big deal, right?  I ride my bike about 250 days a year so why was yesterday special?  Well, I cried on the bike yesterday.  These weren't tears of pain, but tears of fear, and they caught me completely off guard.

I'm not sure why I was so affected by yesterday's ride.  I crashed a week ago (only my 2nd road cycling crash in 14 years, hit by another cyclist).  My only other crash was in 2002 when I was hit by a car.  I was very fortunate and my injuries were very minor (soft tissue damage) but it meant that I have only been on the bike twice now since the crash.  The first time on the bike, I felt fine mentally, except a bit of nervous energy when I returned to the site of the crash.  But yesterday, I was nervous even before rolling out the door.  I think the death, on Wednesday, of a woman about my age, riding on a road I've ridden at least a few hundred times, due to a collision with a motor vehicle, left me feeling a bit uncertain about my own safety.

I'm a super-defensive rider.  I like to believe I see and anticipate every potential risk.  I don't ride on roads that I perceive as dangerous.  I'm extra cautious when riding during twilight hours (because vision is limited).  I learned great tips for "thinking like a car" from Velo Girls sponsor Gary Brustin (BicycleLawyer.com).  I teach participants in our skills clinics that YOU DON'T HAVE TO CRASH YOUR BIKE.  I believe that.  I've had close calls with automobiles pretty much every ride I've ever done, and yet I've kept it upright.  But suddenly, yesterday, I was very nervous.

Not a quarter mile from my house, a woman almost hit me while she was talking on the phone.  Two miles later, a man in a big white truck with jacked up wheels and NRA stickers all over the cab, intentionally tried to spook me by swerving into me.  When I rolled up to the red light, stopped next to him, he turned and laughed at me, then floored it and sped off.  As I started my first climb, I realized that the cars felt faster, closer, and more distracted than usual.  I kept asking myself "why do these cars need to drive so darn fast?"  I almost turned around at that point.  I just had a nervous feeling about being out on the bike yesterday.  And that's when I cried.  

And I don't really know why I cried.  I know plenty of folks who have died while riding a bicycle.  I know plenty of folks who have died while not riding a bicycle.  I know folks who've suffered severe, life-changing mental and physical injuries.  I've had plenty of close calls myself.  I've been the victim of hatred and violence while riding my bike.  Maybe my tears had nothing to do with riding a bike at all.

I decided that the worst thing I could do would be to call my ride short.  I needed to keep pedaling, to regain some confidence, to calm my nerves.  I made route decisions based on my mental state, avoiding certain roads that I knew would be busy on a Sunday afternoon.  I found myself being a bit more conservative than usual, controlling my speed a bit on my descents and being hyper-aware of blind turns.  I noticed a larger-than-usual number of bicycles with both front and back blinky lights (thanks in some part, I'm sure, to a fabulous blog post earlier this week by Mike Jacoubowsky of Chain Reaction Bicycles).  

And then, I chose a small climb I haven't ridden in many years.  It's a bit off the beaten path and I thought that would be good for me.  As I settled into my climbing rhythm, I felt a calm settle over me.  The road was deserted and lovely.  As I peaked, I had the most gorgeous view of the San Francisco Bay, Mt. Diablo (recently ravaged by wildfire) and Mt. Hamilton.  I regret not taking a photo, because the late afternoon light created the perfect contrast and depth on the bay and the east bay hills.

The rest of my ride, drivers seemed to slow down.  They seemed more considerate.  They waited to pass until it was safe to do so.  They gave me more room when passing.  Not a single car buzzed my elbow.  I received a few friendly waves and a smile or two.  And I started to realize that the number of automobile drivers who respect cyclists and want to share the road with us far outweighs the number of automobile drivers who might harm us (whether intentionally or unintentionally).  

And I finished my ride the way I always finish my ride with a victory salute as I rolled down my street, celebrating the fact that I made it home alive.  Yup, I'm always aware of the risk.  We should ALL be aware of the risk of riding a bike.  But I think, too often, we forget.  Or we hide our emotion as a coping mechanism, allowing us to continue participating in an activity that really is dangerous.  We forget, until someone is injured or killed and we can't forget anymore.  

I love riding my bicycle more than just about anything in the world.  And I've ridden a bicycle for 14+ years, longer than anything else I've done in my life: any job, any home I've lived in, any boyfriend, any anything.  Riding a bicycle makes me feel free!  Riding a bicycle clears my mind and helps me manage my life stress.  Riding a bicycle makes me feel that I can succeed at anything and has greatly improved my self esteem.  Riding a bicycle completes me.

if life had a dimmer switch

I don't typically write about personal stuff on my public blog, but I want to share this for a number of reasons.  First, if you've been wondering what makes me tick, this might help you understand me a bit better.  Second, I've shared this advice many times with my clients, yet I never considered it relevant for me until now.  I'm hoping these thoughts might speak to some of you as well.  Who knows, this could save you thousands of dollars in therapy!  And lastly, I'm sharing this because I'm owning it (which is HUGE for me).

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I experienced an epiphany yesterday.  To those who know me well, this is probably not a surprise.  To those who know only my "public" persona, you may or may not be surprised.  To me, the realization was life-changing.

My fatal flaw is that I've lived my life in a very ALL or NOTHING way.  I trace this back to my childhood.  It's a flaw of many over-achievers.  When we swing THAT HIGH, there's a complementary LOW swing to balance it out.  Some folks experience this daily, some less frequently.

I saw this trait in my mother.  She was very ALL or NOTHING.  And when she couldn't live her life at the ALL end of the spectrum, she checked out completely.  I don't want to let that happen to me.

So this begs the question, "why can't we be moderate, balanced, mediocre?"

I've been driven throughout my life to be first, best, only.  I didn't see the point in participating if you couldn't win.  I never understood how someone was happy with a B when there was an A possible.  I was the Girl Scout who wanted every single merit badge.  I was never drawn to a career where I would be just another body, just another number in the rank + file.  I've lived my life trying to be unique and special and outstanding.

So I struggle with this -- in my personal life, my athletic life, my business-owner life, in my ENTIRE life.  I've had no consistency.  I go great guns until something, some hurdle, presents itself, and then I swing to the opposite end of the spectrum and surrender.  This hurdle might be an injury or illness, it might be a change in relationship or friendship, it might be a particularly challenging business situation.  I let it get to me -- to stop me.

I'm sure some of you can empathize.  When there are 500 emails in my inbox, it's overwhelming and I don't know where to begin.  When I'm at a low with fitness (or a high with weight) what difference does it make if I have some ice cream or don't work out for one more day?  Unless I can throw myself at a project 100% (or more) why should I even participate?  So instead of living a moderate life, I operate on hyper-drive or I participate in destructive thoughts and actions.

So as I analyze this, I always thought that what I needed was a way to manage the hurdles -- to create a support system to help me through the challenging times.  But now, I'm starting to believe what I really need is the ability to manage my energy so that I can MODERATE myself.  I don't need to swing to both ends of the spectrum -- it's tiring and counter-productive.

Because as we age, as we continue to live life, the hurdles seem to increase in frequency, intensity, and duration.  And the resultant lows are lower.

For someone who was raised to over-achieve, to "shoot for the stars," this is a HUGE paradigm shift.  I've always wondered how some people can be so content in life with mediocrity - in job, family, sport, education.  But upon further examination, I realize that what they have is not mediocrity, but consistency and balance.  I'm starting to think that's not such a bad thing.  It's freeing.  I can't express the sense of relief I feel giving myself permission to JUST BE ME.

The good news is that I think I've been turning in this direction for the past few years.  I've experienced some significant change in my life and have been heading in this direction without quite knowing the destination.  And now, it's all become quite clear.

Life isn't simply BLACK or WHITE.  GRAY is okay.

It's not ALL or NOthing.  SOMEthing is just fine, too.

Maybe I'll print that eloquent quote on magnets and share it with my friends, clients, and teammates who suffer from the same over-achieving, self-destructive tendencies.

bollards, oh bollocks!

bollard:  (n) a pole or structure erected to direct traffic or obstruct access to certain road users (cars).

bollocks:  (n) literal meaning:  testicles.  common use:  an expletive uttered after a misfortune.

One of my coaching clients recently crashed his bike and suffered some pretty serious injuries.  He was commuting to work on the SF Bay Trail as part of a group ride.  The route was detoured to a narrow section of trail with a bollard at the entrance.  He didn't see the bollard and hit it.

This crash has prompted heated discussion on the local bicycle advocacy email list.  The debate had focused on the illegality of the bollards and how dangerous that type of structure could be for trail users.  The debate transitioned into a discussion of the intended use of that trail with respect to large fast-paced group rides.

I don't typically participate in debate on email groups or on-line forums.  We all know how they end up.  But I felt strongly that there was another message that should be considered and perhaps some learning to be done.  Yeah, I was the person who mentioned that the speed limit at that high-use section of trail was only 5mph and that a change in rider/group behavior might have prevented the crash.  And the personal attacks flew -- good stuff.

I know that section of trail very well.  For 12 years I lived just a mile from there.  The intersection in question is very busy -- with lots of kids, joggers, older adults, and folks visiting the dog park.  The speed limit there is reduced for that very reason.  I also led a fast-paced, early-morning group ride on the SF Bail Trail for a number of years, until the numbers grew so large that I felt it was no longer safe for us to share the trail with other trail users.

For more than a year, I commuted by bicycle from San Mateo to San Francisco -- long before commuting became popular and a group activity.  I also commuted for a year from San Mateo to Los Altos Hills.  I understand commuting.  I get it.  Your goal is to get from point A to point B with as few transitions (red lights, stop signs, turns) as possible.  You might go slow or fast, flat or hilly, short or long, but in the end, your goal is to get there.

So, back to last week's crash.  While I agree that bollards create unnecessary hazards for road users and that there are other alternatives, I would also challenge riders to think about how their behavior could prevent something like this in the future.  Is a multi-use path the best place for a large, fast-paced group ride (even in the early morning hours)?  Are there alternative routes that still offer a good, solid commute but would be more appropriate for a large group?  Can we remind participants to call out hazards, leave more space between riders, and slow down a bit as the group encounters bollards, and then soft pedal to re-group after the entire group has passed through?

Many of the folks who participate in this particular ride are relatively new to cycling, commuting, and/or group riding.  They trust the de facto leaders of the group (whether it's a cycling club, an employer, or just a group of friends).  They trust that those leaders will lead them on routes that are safe and hazard-free.  They trust that other riders in the group will communicate obstacles/hazards, changes in pace, and changes in direction.  They trust that we're all in this sport together and that we'll look out for each other.  After all, isn't that one of the reasons we choose to ride with others?

cycling symphonic

Little-known fact: I was a pretty darn good musician in a former life. I attended Ithaca College on a full music scholarship. My major was the oboe, but I played all the woodwinds, French horn, mallets, keyboards, and sang. Music was my life -- my everything. I had planned to be a professional oboist with a symphony orchestra. It was a crazy-risky career choice for a girl from a poor, working-class family. But somehow, my parents were very supportive of this goal.

By an odd twist of fate, coupled with a healthy dose of performance anxiety and a case of cold feet, I changed my degree program a couple of times and graduated with a BFA in Theatre Management. That was career #1 for me and I managed professional theatres for the first 13 years of my career. That was also the career that brought me to California back in 1997.

Music is still a HUGE part of my life. I have more than 12,000 songs of all genres in my iTunes library and that doesn't include all the cassette tapes I've never converted or replaced. I listen to music from the moment I awake until the moment I go to sleep. I listen in my home, in my car, in my office, and while I'm sitting on my roof-top deck. It's the soundtrack of my life. But the one place I DON'T listen to music is while I'm riding my bicycle.

When I ride my bike, I want to connect fully with my environment. I want to see, hear, and smell the world around me. I want to unplug from the technology that pervades every waking moment of my life. I want to take myself off the grid, without distractions of phone, text, email, or facebook. I want to immerse myself into the sensory experience of riding my bicycle in the great big wide open world.

The debate of whether or not cyclists should listen to music while riding is in the same league as the Campy/Shimano debate, the Hatfields and the McCoys, or Democrat versus Republican. Cyclists get pretty emotional and passionate in their opinion about this. I'll just suffice to say that in California, the vehicle code (which also governs bicycles) states that you can wear one earbud when riding a bicycle.

When I listen to music, I listen with every part of my brain.....with every part of my being. It actually makes it challenging to focus on certain types of work (like reading and writing) so I have to be very careful how loudly I'm listening to my music and what types of music I listen to. I have a mix called "mindless music" that is comprised of jazz, classical, and other types of music that I won't find myself really listening to (or trying to sing along with). But even then, I realize that I'm easily distracted by the music in the background.

I was listening to a new download tonight -- Peter Gabriel's New Blood (Special Edition) which is superb and you should check it out. I allowed myself the luxury (and distraction) of playing it on my Apple TV through the sound bar on my television (which has phenomenal sound quality). I felt myself being transported into a place of familiarity (with lyrics I remember from 20 years ago) and emotion (with the orchestral + operatic qualities). It was an all-encompassing experience and I wasn't able to keep working.

And, in that moment, I realized that because I get so focused and involved with the music I listen to, it wouldn't be prudent of me to ride while I listen. I can lose myself in music. When I ride I need to focus 100% of my attention on my environment. I need to think about other road users, the terrain, and my own state of physical being. When listening to music, using every bit of gray matter I've got, there's nothing left to be alert and aware when I'm riding.

So yeah, I've always thought I just wanted to escape technology (and that's true), but the reality is that music is such a complete sensory experience for me that there would be nothing left to pedal my bicycle safely.

How about you? Do you listen to music while you ride?

ps -- this image has nothing to do with this blog post but I was searching for related images about music and cycling and the brain and happened upon this happy guy and wanted to share it!

musings on girls + women in sport

while a plump groundhog in Punsxutawney, PA is making news by seeing or not seeing his shadow today, there's another February 2nd milestone that's just as worthy of media attention. today is National Girls + Women in Sports Day. woo hoo, says me!

of course, just the fact that we need a national day to recognize something like the privilege (and right) of girls and women to participate equally in any activity starts the wheels in my head turning.

many of the athletes I work with are too young to remember Title IX. oh yeah, it's a hip women's activewear company, right? um, no, it's federal law that was enacted in 1972 that prohibited discrimination in education (at least in federally-funded institutions). best known for it's impact on athletics, by providing supposedly equal opportunities for men and women in scholastic sports, it also applied to other educational programs (such as vocational education). and while critics complained that Title IX reduced opportunities for male athletes, women applauded the fact that they were now considered equal in the eyes of the federal government.

yeah, I was only 7, so what do I know? what I do remember about the date (June 23rd, 1972) is that my sister Susan was supposed to graduate high school. graduation was cancelled due to the devastating flood caused by Hurricane Agnes. our house was spared (by about 1/2 mile of Chemung River flooding to the north and 1/2 mile of Seeley Creek flooding to the south). we were ready to evacuate. my father helped sandbag the river. and I vividly remember walking around in the days post-flood, seeing half washed away homes (that looked like doll houses), inches of stinky mud and muck on all the streets and in the stores, and houses (and cows) floating down the river. the five bridges that separated one half of my hometown of Elmira from the other half were washed out. my father couldn't get to work (on the other side of the bridges). and high school graduation was cancelled. Hurricane Agnes proved to be a blessing in disguise, because my poor little town of Elmira, NY underwent a HUGE transformation due to the economic recovery.

so I guess I missed the news about Title IX.

a few years later I signed up for my first softball team. I was younger than all the other girls and we had a winning team, so the coach never let me play. I guess he hadn't heard about Title IX either. ball sports weren't really my thing anyways, so there! I will admit, however, that I was a pretty darn good bowler, but I never really considered bowling a sport.

I was a tall girl -- 5' 10" since 4th grade. yeah, I was tall. tall and skinny and gawky. not graceful at all, even though I'd been studying dance since I was five and twirling baton since I was 2. I was not an athlete. then again, were any girls my age considered athletes? they were tomboys. we didn't click. I climbed trees and built forts and rode bikes, but the girls who played sports with balls were just weird.

in junior high school, the basketball coach tried to recruit me to play for the school team, but I was involved with CCD after school. by high school, I'd missed my opportunity. it was too late. all the girls who had been playing for the past two years were athletes. I was not an athlete. so I stuck to what I knew -- books and music.

I finally gave in and joined the track team my senior year because I thought it would be good for my college applications -- you know, make me look well-rounded or something. it took me a month of daily training before I could run a whole mile without stopping. the coach declared me a sprinter. I ran a half marathon to defy him (he said I couldn't do it). I couldn't walk for days afterward. in the spring, I was recruited for high jump and long jump (because I was tall). I earned a couple of varsity letters, won a few trophies and some award for being outstanding in field events. but I was not an athlete -- I was simply doing it for my college applications (and the boys on the track bus were a nice bonus).

I missed my opportunity with sports. I went away to college, did college things, thought about rowing crew, changed my mind about rowing crew when I found out the team had to run to the boathouse (in Ithaca winters) down the big hill at 5:00am. yeah, I was definitely not an athlete.

post-college I dabbled with step aerobics and bought a bike but I was too focused on advancing my career to really spend any time being healthy. it wasn't until my late 20s that I quit smoking, started inline skating, skiing, and playing volleyball. but I still wasn't an athlete -- I was simply doing these sports for the social aspect (meeting boys in the ski club).

before I knew it, I was 30 years old and moved to sunny California, where everyone was an athlete. what was I doing here? I sure didn't fit in. I wasn't an athlete. but then something happened. I started riding a bicycle again, after more than a decade of not riding a bike. I liked it. it stuck. I was an athlete!

in many ways I regret the fact that if I had any athletic potential at all, I missed my opportunities as a child and young adult. I wish that I'd been one of those sporty girls from the sporty families that did sporty things. that was not my family. and our schools, at the time, didn't encourage female athletes.

I look at the difference between my youth and that of my nieces -- now all in their 20s. they grew up playing soccer and softball and basketball. they swam and dove. they could basically play any sport they wanted to play. the opportunities were there for them in their schools and in their communities. they were athletes, thanks to Title IX. they had the opportunity to participate in sports that weren't part of school sport programs when I was a girl. they could compete. and excel. and grow as individuals because of their experience in team and individual sports. they learned life lessons. they learned how to be competitors. they learned how to be team players. they learned how to win and how to lose. and they are healthier, well-rounded individuals because of these opportunities.

so, if you've followed along with my ramblings all the way down here, I'll ask you to celebrate the opportunities provided by Title IX. encourage a girl (or woman) to be fit and active and participate in sport. volunteer with a program for youth. mentor that young cyclist. give a shout out to the youth sailing in the lagoon. nudge your wife or girlfriend to join in that group ride or run or dance class. be thankful that the youth of today have the opportunity to develop as athletes, and more importantly, as individuals because of Title IX.

put a little bang in your yin yang

energy. it's an amazing thing, right? we've got it, we don't have it, we want more of it, we have too much of it.

I have observed that the more energy I expend, the more energy I have. funny, isn't it? when I'm active, riding my bicycle, I feel energized and alive and ready to conquer the world. I'm on a roll and there's no stopping me. when I'm inactive, not riding my bicycle, I feel tired and sluggish and depressed. yeah, there's something to this energy thing.

so, I've returned to practicing yoga. my objective is to balance my physical being -- all the years of high-volume riding coupled with poor posture and bad ergonomics in my office, as well as a couple of serious past injuries. what I didn't expect was to balance my emotional being as well.

in the past, I've practiced Bikram yoga, an intense, athletic form of yoga that's practiced in a heated room. Bikram is Yang.* Bicycle riding is Yang. participating in both has created some interesting imbalances in both my physical and mental self. Bikram is physically challenging for me. there's no half-way for me in Bikram. being a wee bit competitive in nature, I push too hard, I stretch too far, and I end up sore, tired and potentially injured. and then I quit.

my favorite yoga studio, Being Yoga in Burlingame, offers 40+ classes a week. most of these classes are Bikram, but a handful are other styles of yoga. so I've decided to check out some other styles. interestingly enough, these non-Bikram classes are offered in the middle of the day, a time when my energy starts to flag and I find I need some activity to push me through the afternoon.

enter Yin yoga. wow! it's a form of deep yoga with poses that are held for a long time (some of them 10-15 minutes in duration). instead of focusing on our muscles, Yin goes deep into the connective tissue -- ligaments and tendons -- exactly where my broken + abused body really needs some focus. let's see, Yin yoga + Yang cycling = balance. that makes sense to me.

the other interesting concept behind Yin yoga is that it's very meditative. being a wired, ADD, hyper personality, I've never felt comfortable with meditation. yeah, I think a lot on the bike, but mostly my mind is pinging and ponging between a gazillion ideas at the same time. so for me to actually shut off my mind and focus on just one thought, one mantra, for an extended period of time seemed challenging. but I found that it was actually quite easy to be in the moment. and I also found that it helped my mental focus at other times, too.

balance. it's a funny thing. oil + vinegar. sonny + cher. yin + yang. it's all starting to make sense to me now.



*If you want to learn more about Yin + Yang and the theory of contrary but interdependent forces, start here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yin_and_yang

grant yourself permission

many years ago, when I first became a cycling coach, one of my clients shared this little nugget of psychological wisdom. she wasn't referring to cycling, but I found it an important lesson for just about anything in life. I immediately stole it and began using it as the preface to my skills clinics. it's simple yet brilliant.

I know you're on the edge of your seat waiting to learn what this piece of advice might be. of course, if you've participated in one of my clinics, you know exactly what I'm about to type.

"grant yourself permission to be a beginner." it's okay to not be perfect at everything you do. it's okay to go through the learning process. it's okay to be right where you are right now. it's okay to fail and try again and learn and improve. it's okay to be a beginner.

whether you're learning to ride a bicycle or race a bicycle, mountain bike, or even ride a unicycle, it's okay to be a beginner.

something happens to us in adulthood that creates a mental challenge for us to learn something new. we've become successful. we have college degrees, jobs, and healthy relationships. we know how to balance a checkbook and do laundry. we can multi-task. we find it difficult to ask for help. and suddenly, it's not okay (at least in our own minds) to not be perfect at something. we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to succeed. and when we don't find immediate success, we're embarrassed and frustrated and (all too often), we give up before we've really given ourselves a chance at success.

I always chuckle when someone says "it's just like riding a bicycle." if that were true, I wouldn't have been able to build a successful business that focuses on teaching adults how to ride and race their bicycles.

although most of us rode a bike as a child, many of us stop riding for a period of time (usually our 20s) while we're living life in other ways: college, career, family, etc. and then, when we decide it's time to ride a bike again, we're faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges. something has changed since childhood. we have fear. we understand pain + mortality. we have a job to go to on Monday. we've forgotten that riding a bike should be fun. we worry about what others will think of us. we feel judged. we've forgotten what our body feels like and how to interact with a bicycle.

so instead, we try to manage the bicycle. we try to fix it and control it and conquer it. and because we don't understand how a bicycle really works and we no longer listen to our body in quite the same way we did as a child, we fail. we crash. we're afraid. and we're frustrated.

I experienced this myself. I rode a bicycle from tricycle to 10-speed Free Spirit through my early 20s. it was my transportation. it was my freedom. I rode to the playground. I rode to school. I rode to my boyfriend's house. I rode to parties. I rode to my job. I rode everywhere. and then.....I stopped riding.

in 1999, after a decade-long hiatus, I decided that it was time to ride a bike again. I had moved to California and everyone here was healthy. they worked out at the gym and they played outside. they rode bikes. and I wanted to ride a bike, too. so I dusted off my 10 year old Specialized Hard Rock mountain bike and started riding. and I failed. I was afraid of everything: cars, getting lost, falling off the side of the road, going downhill. and I was frustrated that I was afraid. and I was frustrated that I had failed. and I was frustrated that I was frustrated. how was it possible that I had ridden a bike for more than 20 years but now I was a complete failure?

but those of you who know me well know that I'm stubborn. I really, really wanted to ride my bike. I was obsessed with riding my bike. I registered to ride in the California AIDS Ride, a 7-day ride of almost 600 miles from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I had nine months to train. it seemed impossible. I would conquer it. and I did. within three months, I had ridden my Hard Rock almost every day. I completed my first century on the Coyote Creek Trail (solo), riding back + forth + back + forth. I eventually conquered my fear of riding on the road and ventured away from the bike trails. and then I started riding with groups. before I knew it, I was commuting in the dark from San Mateo to San Francisco. and then I was leading rides for Team Schwab and for the California AIDS Ride. but I still wasn't a perfect rider and that frustrated me.

when I was given the opportunity to change careers in 2001 by Charles Schwab, I decided that I wanted to share the amazing physical, mental, and personal transformation that I'd undergone by riding a bicycle with others. so I became a coach and a personal trainer and founded Velo Girls, one of the first women's-only cycling organizations in the United States. and then I began the process of deconstructing the physics of riding a bike so I could teach others in a way that was logical and progressive. I wanted to break down those barriers that kept adults from riding, kept them from succeeding, and kept them from having fun. I wanted to help adults understand how to ride with their bicycle (not on their bicycle). I developed a series of skills clinics that I tested out on our very first racing team. those clinics were the foundation of Girls Got Skills, our racing development program, and our four-hour Bike Skills clinics.

and the rest is history.

so, if you're frustrated or afraid or embarrassed, you're not alone. I was there and hundreds of adults with whom I work each year were there, too. it gets better. but the first step in learning is to give yourself permission to be a beginner and be patient with the learning process. if you do, you'll open up a world of possibilities for yourself.

when life throws you a curve

Take a deep breath, smile, relax, look where you want to go, lean into the curves, and let go of the brakes.

You'll find it's easier to follow your desired path when you don't panic -- whether driving a car, riding a bike, or navigating life.

"are you scared to ride your bike?"

that was the question one of my development team racers posed to me on Sunday morning after I told her about my crash on Saturday.

"are you scared to ride your bike now?"

my response, "of course not." I wasn't scared to finish my ride after the crash and I'm not scared to ride now. my crash was a flukey situation and I didn't feel any fear of getting back on the bike. I'm sure it helped that my injuries were minor (bruising and a skinned knee).

all the same, I always tell folks that I don't crash. counting back, I've had 5 crashes in the 9 years I've been riding as an adult. only one of those was on the road bike, two on the cyclocross bike, and two on the mountain bike. I'm a relatively conservative rider and I've got good skills and good intuition. crashing could prevent me from doing my job (and I can't afford that). so, I make it my practice not to crash.

"are you scared to ride your bike now?"

the more I think about her question, the more I realize that there are lots of fears involved in our sport.

I rode throughout childhood. I remember the day I removed my own training wheels because my father was working and the boys in the neighborhood made fun of me. I remember the day I rode into the back of a parked car. I remember the day I crashed on the old railroad bridge over Seeley Creek when my front wheel got caught between two planks. I remember the day I got hit by a car. I remember riding to my boyfriend's house in my jeans and no helmet. I remember riding to my job as a bartender at the golf course. and then, I finished college and I didn't ride anymore.

I bought a mountain bike in 1990 because I wanted to quit smoking and I thought riding a bike would help me with that. when I started riding again in 1990 I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of going fast. I was afraid of falling off the side of the road. I was afraid of going downhill. I was afraid of getting lost. I was afraid of someone harming me. I was afraid of cars. I was afraid of dogs. I was just plain afraid of riding my bike. and so I rode it half a dozen times and never touched it again until 1999.

"are you scared to ride your bike now?"

I hung up my bike for nearly a decade. when I started riding again in 1999, I still had all of those same fears. but I also had a support system of riding friends, a really big goal (the California AIDS Ride), and a great desire to be healthy and ride my bike so, one by one, I conquered my fears.

as a skills coach, I've developed my teaching style and curriculum based on the fact that I know many women (and some men) harbor the same fears that I did as a new rider. and, as adults, we're uncomfortable telling folks that we're afraid of something as simple as riding a bike. my goal is to provide riders with the tools to gain confidence on the bike and alleviate their fears.

fear is a complex emotion, causing us to avoid risk. fear can be paralyzing. fear can cause us to make irrational decisions. but a healthy respect for the risks of the sport can help you keep the skin on your knees.

"are you scared to ride your bike now?"

the sport of bicycling has inherent risks. we all know that. I think most of us subconsciously push the threat of those risks to the back of our mind so we can go about the day-to-day business of riding our bikes. but then, something happens -- a close call, a crash, a tragedy -- that reminds us that each and every time we throw a leg over the top tube, we're taking a risk. we're placing our trust in others -- the bike manufacturers, our mechanic, other riders, cars, trail designers, ourselves -- that we will finish our ride in one piece.

each time we get that wake-up call, we have to make that decision again -- will we choose the risky path and ride our bike? for me, the answer will always be a resounding "yes."

there are lots of risks in life. I could die eating in a restaurant. I could die walking across the street. I could die flying on a plane. I could die riding my bike.

"are you scared to ride your bike now?"

I plan to live my life to the fullest. I choose to take a few risks now & then. I'll gladly take a few bumps and bruises in exchange for the opportunity to stretch my legs, meet fabulous friends, see beautiful places, and enjoy the sport I love. I would much rather enjoy each and every minute of my life, riding my bike, than sit on the couch worrying about risk.

what are you waiting for?

I had an interesting conversation with one of my coaching clients recently. she is in her first season of road racing. she did a few races early in the season, and then spent a month travelling for work (without a bike). upon her return, she declared that she had no fitness and would race again in August. August? that's the end of the season. what about all the months in between?

the conversation reminded me of my early racing career. I was coaching the team and planned to race myself in 2002. and in 2003. and things just kept getting in the way. I was hit by a car. I injured my back. I lost my mother. I had a DVT. and I kept waiting for that elusive "perfect" fitness to return.

guess what? there are no guarantees in life. perfect fitness may never come.

stop waiting.

stop planning.

stop thinking.

start living.

think of all the fabulous experiences you'll miss while you're "waiting."

the tour is won in bed

sometimes you have to make tough choices when it comes to training.

as a coach, I know this to be one of the greatest challenges my athletes face: when to say "no."

I've had four very high-volume weeks with lots of elevation. in the month of June, I was on the bike a total of 28 days (yes, only 2 days off). I logged almost 80 hours for the month, with a total of close to 1,000 miles with 60,000' of climbing.

I'm tired.

I had a plan for today. it wasn't easy. it entailed about 4 hours of constant climbing.

did I mention I'm tired?

so, I followed my own advice and took a break.

I rode my touring bike on some errands (10 miles total). I went to the chiropractor for bodywork. I got a pedicure. I took my dog on a long outing to the bay.

I'm not quite as tired anymore.

I know that we get stronger during rest. but like my own athletes, I sometimes have a hard time believing that. the temptation to train longer and harder is always there.

today, I got stronger.

today is the first day of the rest of your life

wow! it's April already. I'm feeling a bit lost -- as though someone stole the first three months of my year.

I have a choice this morning, as I sit and contemplate my day. I can feel regret about lost days, or I can feel optimistic, something I haven't felt in quite a while.

like many of you, I use landmarks and milestones in my planning: the first day of of the year, the first day of the month, the first day of the week, etc. so today, on the first day of April, I'm going to make a choice to live life.

instead of looking back and regretting the time lost to illness in February and March, I'm looking forward to all the days I've still got left this year. I've got 274 more opportunities to eat right and exercise. I've got 274 more chances to be productive and resourceful. I've got 274 more days to have a positive impact on my health and fitness.

how about you? how can you change the rest of your life......today?

sometimes you just have to coast

a number of years ago, my dear friend Teresa Callen, shared some sage advice with me. as two small businesswomen, we were talking about the demands of the business cycle and the need to always be pushing forward or risk falling back. now Teresa has been in business for herself a long time. she's seen ups and downs and in-betweens. and she told me that even though it feels like you're always working hard, sometimes you just have to coast.

how fitting, given I work in the bike industry, no?

I think about that analogy often.

there are times in life when we have to pedal hard and we're huffing and puffing and sweating to make it up that hill.

there are times when we let the group pull us along.

there are times when we get to enjoy a nice tailwind on our own.

and there are times when we can just coast.

the past two months have been trying for me. I've been sick and feel that I've lost fitness. I feel this has compromised my ability to do my job. we've suffered great tragedy in the cycling community, which also made me question my career choice. and I've had some personal challenges to contend with as well.

but rather than stress about all of this, I'm trying to remember Teresa's advice: sometimes you just have to coast.

I'm allowing myself to mentally coast right now -- not to over-think life or love or career.

I hope you can allow yourself to coast when needed from time to time as well.

Lorri

Life's Lessons Learned Bicycling

I know some very wise women. I think the sport of cycling naturally attracts intelligent women, and many of them are filled with wisdom as well as "smarts."

Several years ago, as I was struggling with my health and the death of my mother, one of these wise women gave me the following poem, printed on a yellowed and tattered piece of paper. This poem had obviously been shared and contemplated for many years. I eventually scanned and printed, framed, and hung these words on my wall of shame, along with my certificates and awards. If you've been to my office for a bike fit, you've probably noticed this poem without realizing the significance of it's history.

These little tidbits of wisdom have helped me through many a tough day and helped me to put life back into perspective when I thought it was spinning out of control. So I'm sharing them with you, with the hopes that they'll someday help you put life back into perspective, too.

So thank you to that wise woman and all the other wise women who've crossed my path.



LIFE'S LESSONS LEARNED FROM BICYCLING -- by Bonnie Glass

Relax and breathe deeply.

People may pass you on their journeys -- smile at them and wish them well; we all travel at our own pace.

Shift gears often. When the pedaling gets hard, make it easier. Don't fight or force it. Adjust to the road and the journey. You're in it for the long haul.

Sometimes you have to pull off the road to refasten your helmet.

You can stand on the pedals and give it your all, but sometimes you have to stop pedaling and coast.

Sometimes the wind is with you; other times it is against you. When it is against you, keep your head down and stay low!

you are what you think

I was sorting through a pile of papers yesterday and I came upon a little piece of paper (a page from my car's mileage log) with scribbled notes. I had scribbled those notes after the last mountain bike race of the season last year, as I rushed to the airport to fly to Denver. at the time, I had intended to blog about an experience I'd had during that race, but life got in the way, the paper shuffled around, and I eventually forgot about it. but finding that piece of paper yesterday brought back a rush of memories.

you see, I had intended to blog my thoughts about another racer. it really doesn't matter who she is. she could be anyone, really, and I'm sure at one time or another just about everyone has behaved the way she did.

she was new to racing last season. she was one of those women who always had an excuse to explain her performance. in her mind, she was faster than all of us and should have won every race, but bad luck prevented that with a variety of mechanical and medical issues. her excuses weren't what I planned to blog about, but rather just to give you an idea about her temperament.

I had intended to blog about her potty mouth! yea, I said potty mouth. everytime something happened in a race, she would drop a string of f-bombs. you could see the look on her face -- negative.

she'd miss a section: $&#)@%!

couldn't complete a pass: *$)_%($!

didn't like the weather: $&@#(#!

didn't win the sprint: *$%#@*!

you get it. potty mouth. it started before the race began and continued long into the parking lot as we were cracking a beer.

potty, potty, potty!

at first glance, you might assume she didn't enjoy racing. maybe she raised in bar or a brothel. but on further examination, I realized that she was just a negative person. her potty mouth wasn't isolated just to mountain biking -- it carried over into everything she talked about.

I know other racers, on the other hand, who are always smiling and never swearing. they love the sport and appreciate the experience of racing. and they win lots of races. and even when they don't win, they come out on top because they truly love the experience.

so, what's all this have to do with the price of tea?

negative self-talk can change the outcome of your life.

dramatic? yes. true? probably.

I'm sure there's some psychologist-type out there in blogland who can substantiate this claim with facts, figures, and statistics, but here's what I know.

attitude is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

if you believe you can win a race, you might actually do it.

but if you don't believe you can win a race, you probably won't.

the mind is a powerful force.

in the coming weeks, as you set goals for your season, think about how you approach your events. are you an optimist? are you looking forward to your events? can you set positive goals? do you smile?

try some positive visualization. imagine yourself being successful. imagine yourself smiling and laughing. imagine the possibilities if you can let go of your negative self and let your positive self out to play.