OH HELLO

Yes, I am still here. I know I have neglected you.

The past few months have been interesting. I raced over mountains and swamps and stuff. It was like living in Lord of the Rings. But...also not at all.

It is winter, as you probably noticed when you went outside somewhere that is NOT naples, FL, and that means the Lizard must do base miles, and several of them. I did a string of 4 hour days when my grandmother was here visiting and she asked, "how far do you think you go on those rides?"
I said, "well, today I did eighty."

To which she replied, "eighty...what?"

"Miles...?" D'AWWWWWWW.

It is weird how you get used to things. Two years ago, if you had told me to go ride four hours a day four days in a row, i might have laughed or cried in your face. But now, I sort of think of 3 hours as being short. I believe this is also impacted by the pancake-like surface that I cycle upon. But...i mean, we can blame those darn higher powers for that one.

I have reached a point in my life where I am not exactly sure what the best path forward is. I am a college graduate, but the only thing I seem to have taken from that is the ability to pedal really hard and endure moderate amounts of suffering. With the help of retrospective 20-20 vision, I often feel happiest when investing myself 2000000% into something I think I can win at, because THAT IS THE POINT RIGHT?!?? And of course, when the way forward is blocked, I want to quit whatever it is that I have spent 2000000000000 mana points on and try something else. Because it is the progress that is so good! It makes you feel like you are going somewhere!

Do you know I used to want to be on broadway!? and then...I realized I can't sing. So i was like, SCREW YOU GUYS IMMA DO SPORTS. Then i did cross country. I ran 12 miles a day for my whole first (and only) competitive season. When i graduated and went to college where--surprise--i was comparatively HORRIBLE even at my fastest ever, I became disillusioned and decided I'd do something new.

I blame being a gemini....we always feel like we are missing out on something. And maybe we are.

So i am filled with weird feeling today. I am filled with endorphins, as I am now doing 2-a-day VO2 intervals and my existence is marked by suffering. But in a good way. Every time i go out, i just pretend that I am battling with the forces of evil and I must crush them or resign all that is good and nice to an untimely destruction. It is empowering.

But it is so easy to see an article like THIS one and feel like everything is just a waste of time. If Emma Pooley can't keep herself on a team, what is there for a little lizard to reach for?

It is easy to say it is unfair. It is easy to quit. But I cannot. What else is there?

Up on my wiggle.

Meow, my friends! Do you get the title? Like...up on my grind?! DO YOU?

Today is yet another day in a series of days that have all become mostly the same, but also different. I find this comforting, the pattern of it all: Get up. Insert caffeine IV drip. Crush. Go to work. Drive around in a golf cart. Rescue lost dog named Mowgli. Knock self out with Melatonin. Repeat.

Since Mr. Scot of bicycle house advised me to stop eating corn syrup, I've lost like...15 lbs! That's practically the weight of a fat baby. Or....Don Pedro. To be fair, he also said to stop drinking 5 beers every weekend night. TRUE WISDOM!!!!! When I finally reach my birth weight, my power to weight ratio will be like...10,000 watts per kilo. I will be unstoppable, like Robert De Niro in Cape Fear. (Imagine a lizard hanging from the undercarriage of your car....BWAHAHAHA.)

So I am currently in the training. Yes. It is fun. There is a calendar, constructed by my marvelous coach Mr. Brady Irwin, of the great and wonderful Science of Speed, filled with boxes of activities. I simply do the activities and transform into a monster. I can say "Sorry, I cannot go eat crepes with you, I have to go put in 80,000 more miles," to people finishing the group rides. The look of confusion they give me is glorious and empowering.


It seems that with this sort of lifestyle, it is impossible to see other humans simply because my whole day is blocked into little sections like a jenga tower. I found this frustrating at first, but then I started talking to my bicycle, and now I live in the pointy part of Maslow's pyramid. OR DO I?! 


Work is truly soul crushing, but I use the time i am not on the golf cart screaming at children to get out of the pool to work on my masterwork of fiction that shall become the next children/adult craze. IT. WILL. SWEET LORD, if only one did not need money in order to bicycle. I swear, I feel my soul being plucked out like a little eyebrow hair, follicle and all, SO SLOWLY EVERYDAY ASDSADG.


When I am wealthier than God, I am going to make some company design me a bike and call it either "Lizard Whip" or "The Wiggle." Tour of the elk grove is in 9 days, and little charlotte and i shall depart in the trusty minivan in 7. 


Also, I got a large pile of Gu items from the amazing Promotive.com today. FREAKING YAY. Here is a picture of my new socks:

Bad bad bopping spokes

Hello, my bicycling minions.

Today was a first in my bicycle handbook, and a terrible first indeed. Like the first christmas you realize  Santa is actually your mother and an embarrassing facial hair thing.

Yes. I broke a spoke. My easton wheels now fill me with negative emotions such as terror, horror, nightsweats, and hallucinations.

I began the day at the buttcrack of dawn, joining the naples velo crew. We were to go peel around Olde Naples at breakneck speeds, head east back towards the Gerrity palace, and then loop up to Bonita and back to the Naples Cyclery for the Tour. And a cookie, for the weak and gluten tolerant.

The mornings in South Florida are not nice so much as they are bearable, but next to the prospect of going out riding during the heat of day, they seem comparatively divine. After 8 AM, Naples becomes a bog.

I am saying this as a preface to my woe; the group ride split up/I was dropped and humiliated don't look at me after about two hours. Me and my new buddies Leslie and Kurt decided to make a Walgreens stop (GATORADE!!!!!! I'm plugging Gatorade.) and then they headed back to the shop to watch Peter Sagan's butt menacing all the civilized world in full HD. I still needed another hour and a half before I reached my 3.5 hour quota....and so on I went. Into the bog.

I think the sound is the weirdest part about riding in naples--not because it's trafficky, but because it's just Naples. It's a combination of weird bugs shrieking and elderly drivers laying on their horns when they notice a bicycle in/on/near the street. I went along at a modest clip, as my soul had just been thoroughly crushed.

 Then--! suddenly! my tire was trying to make out with my fork! LIKE GROSS PDA MUCH. So I stopped, cursed my life, and noticed a spoke dangling from the hub, cleanly cut from the little indenture at the rim side. WHY. WHY DO TINY NINJA SWORDSMEN CURSE ME.

So then I sat there. HM. I said. How convenient for this to happen when I still need to put thirty minutes in. Is the world convinced to see this lizard fail? Maybe. I took off my shoes and resolved to walk to the nearest bike store...five miles south.

But I then realized that Don Pedro was more gimped than I had guessed at first measure! I couldn't just roll the bike next to me, it was too out of true. So i picked him up and saddled him over my shoulder, in the style of firefighters rescuing children, or a sack of potatoes. And so it began.

Just kidding, that got old after like three squares of concrete. I got out my phone and called my mother.

"MOM PICK ME UP," quoth the lizard.

"Oh dear, we're already to the Charlotte airport...."

Ironic, because it was due to the braininess of my little sister, also called Charlotte, that the pair were in the car speeding off toward Gainesville being wooed by the Gators. I needed a new plan.

"I AM HANGING UP, MOTHER." Lizard resolve, level nine.

I called my dad. He did not answer.

"I will just call my friends!" I said. I looked at my phone. I looked up at the sun. I looked back at my phone. I dialed my father a second time.

"Dad," I said "Can you come pick me up?"

"I gotta jump in the shower!"

I could not respond to this, and so resolved to die on the side of the road. But wait! There's more!


This is the moment a nice woman named Tina rode up next to me and took pity on my plight. She called up her husband (I think....?!), Mark, and bade him come collect the sad little creature she had found. And come he did, with his Ford F-150. It was even white.


 I was like, "you are my knight in shining Ford F-150!" and Tina was all "BACK UP OFF MY MAN." 


Just kidding, that didn't really happen.


So that is how I ended up barefoot in the truck of a total stranger. Um. See, my thing is, how can I trust these wheels again!? When it really comes down to it...and the sizable real estate that is my butt is balancing on my 15lb machine...they could just POP OFF. When that day comes....I will tell you all of my asphalt facial. 


UNTIL SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS TO ME,


adieu. 

I'm going to start writing in here more because college is over, and I am a real live adult and I do what I want.

So i woke up today, and I said "HM! HOW CAN I BETTER SERVE MY BLOG FOLLOWERS (all nine of you)!" Note that I said it, and did not ask it, because the Lizard knows all and asks nothing.

ANYWAY, I decided I would tell you all the recipe for a magical smoothie. Yes. It is filled with ingredients. One might even say that it is more like a little liquefied creature than a fruity drink. Yes, you can call him fruity. He is secure in his sexuality.

So here it is.

LIZARD SMOOTHIE OF GREEN POWER AND ORGAN FURY!!!!!!!!!!!

(the exclamation points are part of the title, so you must shout the smoothie's name whenst you refer to him)

STEP ONE:
Get dat blender.
       This is an integral step. Your veggies are not going to puree themselves.

STEP TWO:
Get them bananas.
       Just one actually. Peel that thing.

STEP THREE: Other vegetables.
       Put in some kale. And some other green things you would normally look at and say "That is what food eats." EAT IT, WEAKLING. also, add a lemon. And the secret!? CINNAMON. put it in. DO NOT QUESTION THE LIZARD

STEP FOUR: some fruity junk
      Now you can put in any fruit that you like. DO IT. You need vitamins, little nugget! I like mango. Generally just add whatever you like.

STEP FIVE: put some liquid in there! and ice!
     because if you just try blending dry things, your blender will catch fire or explode. trust me,  I KNOW.

STEP SIX: taste it
      is it disgusting? if you said yes, slap yourself and apologize to the smoothie. If you said no, then get a straw and drink that thing.

Sometimes, i put protein in it too, but be warned, this will make the smoothie revolting no matter what is in it! TRULY REVOLTING, the taste of yucky fruit milk! I am not lying.

ENJOY!!!!!!

Love,

A person with happy organs

SPEEDWEEK: Athens Twilight

            TODAY! What a day, great in the way that puppies are great, or a sandwich is. You know that feeling of starvation—the glucose levels are crying, and then that savior sandwich slides down your esophagus.

            A strange metaphor, but yes, that was today.

           

            I had not raced a bicycle since the Brevard Criterium, a soul-crushing affair. But this was a new day, a new race, with (some) new bicyclers. ‘Twas time to crush.

            Dear old dad picked me up from my dorm this morning, and we hit the road around 10 am. The drive went quickly; stopping for charming diner food didn’t hurt, either.

            We checked into the Fairview Hotel in Commerce, GA (slightly out of the way, but this place is a glorious palace) and headed to the racecourse around five o’clock. I drank hotel coffee and prepared for glory.

            The amateur finals were going off just as we parked; it did not take long to discover that most of Athens was more enamored with booze and funnel cakes than they were with chiseled, hairless man-legs and the thrum of Madfiber wheel sets. Fools!

            I made my way to registration—more trying than it might sound, since most of the spectators seemed like they had been pregaming for Terrapin Twilight since birth. I discovered that I had not been registered…like the reject that I am. But no matter. I killed them with politeness. AND THEY OBEYED. I was number 260.

            By now, it was nearly six. My race was to begin at 7:45. I decided it was as appropriate a time as any to begin the pre-race scurrying. The first order of business: spandex. Put that junk on. Check. Next, dowsing. It is truly absurd that these high-calibre races supply beer more readily than water. I was forced to break into the Hilton Garden hotel, fully-kitted, bicycle in hand.

            “Hello, hello,” I said, squeezing past patrons. “Don’t mind me.”

            They did mind—but the trick is to smile and run to the water fountain before they can summon a burly man to kick out of the building. I did this like the stunning, lime green professional that I am.

            My warm-up consisted of riding up a parking garage for about thirty seconds, and then descending the same length back to the ground floor. 7:25, now. I gave faithful dad my second bottle to hold after drenching most of my head. 7:30.

            My Kenda comrades were aligned in the staging area that had been arbitrarily decided by the various riders mulling about. We were one of the largest teams, putting six riders into the mix. I must become stronger, so I can be a better work slave for them.             BUT I DIGRESS.

            So it was the six of us, hanging about. I recognized several friendly collegiate faces, including the lovely Pepper Palace ladies and Steph from King…joy! I felt less like a lone warrior. Which may or may not be a good thing. Some official men then announced that we all HAD to go sign in at the Muscle Milk Tent SO HELP US GOD; I was filled with dread as there were only eight (eight! how paltry!) minutes until we were to begin. I wailed as I rode next to the Olympians running their Terrapin mile (and 5k!). Let me tell you, it was the most frantic sign-in of my life. Perhaps, of all time. I am not one to judge such matters. I scribbled LIZ GERRITY in an empty block (because, of course, I was not registered and thus had no actual space) and then picked my bicycle up and ran back through the barricades.

            By now, everyone was stacked along the starting line. I chose a humble spot on the inside, anticipating the first turn. Call ups happened, I cheered obnoxiously for the big names of Ladies cycling (including Kenda’s own Kathryn Clark!).

            The announcer, the same from Delray Beach, said something along the lines of “GOOOOOO LADIES!” and we all vaulted forward. My foot caught pedal at first try—an excellent sign. And then, we were off. The goal was to ride conservatively, smoothly. I remembered the redline sufferfest I put myself through at Delray, braking at every turn. This time, Don Pedro carved through those apexes like a knife! A SHARP, SHARP KNIFE.

            I dangled sort of near then end, that point of the race where you turn around and realize you’re the back of the peloton and you’d best not dillydally, sunshine. I refused to brake through the turns. I pedaled like the leggy beast that I am. It was turning out splendidly.            

            Riders were being trimmed each lap, like fat from some unfortunate Thanksgiving turkey. I could see three teammates upfield, and knew I should be there too. Manuvering, though….is so hard….I mentally ticked through things I could improve: Cornering, bike handling, sprinting, acceleration, tactics and now teamwork. I am supposed to be a super domestique…or at least, that is how my collegiate friends insult me when I attempt to sprint. Today I behaved like Mark Cavendish. Sit in. Do ...very little.

            Riders between me and the superstars (Erica Allar, Debbie Milne, etc. etc.) began exploding, some in the fashion of fireworks displays, others, IEDs. I realized at this moment I had not ridden aggressively enough through the halfway mark. The wheels I’d be following would slow, and I’d have to jump through. Girls would break through the corner, then another jump. There was a slight incline after corner two; this was where I finally stuck to the back of the “main” peloton.

            Aerobically, muscularly, I felt fine. I could hear the announcer, reach leisurely (okay, maybe not leisurely) for my bottle. The announcer called three to go, and it was time to jockey for position.

            I began doing just that, moving closer to the front (as close as I could, with all the turn-braking that was going on). There was a prime on the second-to-last lap, I shot through the turn and held onto the wheel in front of me. We glided through turns one and two, and launched up the slight incline on the backside for a fortieth time. But I was doing it! I was moving up! And then…ON THE LAST LAP several riders clattered to the ground.

            “EEEEK.” I cried, rather unheroically. I swerved, unclipped, squealed some more. I saw my teammate Melissa on the ground. To stop blinked through my mind momentarily, but to do so safely was not an option. I remounted, trying to preserve momentum.

            I was about the last rider safely through the residual gap, but I monster crushed for the benefit of my lizard pride.

            In the end, I finished 25^th, feeling like I had a lot more matches left to burn. The difference between Sampson, god rest his soul, and Don Pedro is truly ridiculous. Or maybe I have just been riding more consistently. Either way, I felt like a leggy stallion.

            On that note, I leave you, faithful blog followers. EXPECT UPDATES ALL WEEK!!!

with love,

your bicycle lizard