This morning's bike ride was brought to you by pain and suffering. Decided I was feeling "on it" this week and it was time to do the slightly hilly route (note this is purely by my standards). It's weird, same start point (home) and same destination (work) and yet there's one route which has three excruciating short climbs and yet no noticeable descents and another route which is pretty much flat. Where do the hills come from?
In a moment of let the dog see the rabbit I did even find myself attempting to chase down a man on a bike, who, from my somewhat distant view looked kind of achievable, and had the kind of arse I felt was worth pursuing. But that was the first hill of the ride, and in honesty I was relieved when he turned off down a left turn as I carried on and the pressure was off. It's not a chatty route, the hilly one. It's a route which avoids the town centre which is a way that always offers up some kind of company. A solitude route on the whole, shunned by other cyclists for reasons I can only comprehend if they too are not feeling the hilly love. And today I mostly sung as I pedalled to the tune, words and rhythm of Wilson Phillips.
I feel a need to over share. Passion killers. Cycling shorts by DHB. I suspect this stands for Damage Her Behind. And I'm being kind with that acronym. I am at the bottom of the cycling shorts drawer. The choices this morning left to me were the DHB death to my lady bits shorts or the Altura, well, we are lycra but frankly were purchased when Alison's arse was more a size 14 than a size 10 and the padding drifts around all over the place, and indeed we are stupid and not sure why we are in the house at all shorts. So I chose the DHBs. Fortunately I'm on the hybrid which has a saddle I would be humiliated to use on a bike of any sporting nature. It has gel. Let me say no more. But the DHBs leave me often relieved that there are areas of my anatomy I clearly no longer have a use for ... saying no more.
Let me leave you with:
"I know that there is pain but if you hold on for one more day and break free from the chains"
Humming.
Showing posts with label shorts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shorts. Show all posts
Friday, 25 May 2012
Wednesday, 23 May 2012
Summer time
... and the living is easy. But before I wander off humming Gershwin classics to myself, let me offer up a little praise to the possibly temporary arrival of a British summer (we all know what this means don't we).
There is no avoiding it, this week is prime cycling to work weather, and the excuses are becoming rapidly more flimsy. So transparent in fact that last night I admitted it to myself, I was going to need to cycle in or accept that I am simply no longer a bike commuter. So tyres were pumped (unlike the owner) on the hybrid, pannier was stuffed with spare inner tubes and tyre levers and basically I was committed.
Put out all kinds of appropriate biking clothing last night. Then this morning got out of bed and ignored all my carefully selected baggy trousers and microfleece type top in favour of a simple T-shirt and cycling shorts. Yes, cycling shorts. Lycra as an outer layer. Lycra. Me. All those wobbly bits on display. Suffice it to say I slunk out of the house avoiding the eyes of the mountain bike as I quietly wheeled out the hybrid.
Ah, the joy of the bike ride. Instead of sitting in traffic jams in the car fiddling with the heater / air con to try to get the temperature right, instead of changing radio channel every five minutes to avoid arguing people but still find out what's happening in the world, instead of being in such interminably slow traffic that my left buttock starts to ache from the clutch change. Instead of all this I was in control of my commute, and my lungs were pumping, my legs were hurting, I was doing this. Then something happened which never happens in the car. At red lights I chatted. Another cyclist came up from behind. He nodded and smiled. I nodded then smiled. And the lights stayed red. And I opened conversation, he reciprocated. Two miles later on we were still cycling side by side chatting. Ahem. He was chatting. I was panting somewhat. And it just wouldn't happen in the car and I saw that it was good.
"One of these mornin's, you're gonna rise up singin'; You're gonna spread your wings And take to the sky."
Humming.
There is no avoiding it, this week is prime cycling to work weather, and the excuses are becoming rapidly more flimsy. So transparent in fact that last night I admitted it to myself, I was going to need to cycle in or accept that I am simply no longer a bike commuter. So tyres were pumped (unlike the owner) on the hybrid, pannier was stuffed with spare inner tubes and tyre levers and basically I was committed.
Put out all kinds of appropriate biking clothing last night. Then this morning got out of bed and ignored all my carefully selected baggy trousers and microfleece type top in favour of a simple T-shirt and cycling shorts. Yes, cycling shorts. Lycra as an outer layer. Lycra. Me. All those wobbly bits on display. Suffice it to say I slunk out of the house avoiding the eyes of the mountain bike as I quietly wheeled out the hybrid.
Ah, the joy of the bike ride. Instead of sitting in traffic jams in the car fiddling with the heater / air con to try to get the temperature right, instead of changing radio channel every five minutes to avoid arguing people but still find out what's happening in the world, instead of being in such interminably slow traffic that my left buttock starts to ache from the clutch change. Instead of all this I was in control of my commute, and my lungs were pumping, my legs were hurting, I was doing this. Then something happened which never happens in the car. At red lights I chatted. Another cyclist came up from behind. He nodded and smiled. I nodded then smiled. And the lights stayed red. And I opened conversation, he reciprocated. Two miles later on we were still cycling side by side chatting. Ahem. He was chatting. I was panting somewhat. And it just wouldn't happen in the car and I saw that it was good.
"One of these mornin's, you're gonna rise up singin'; You're gonna spread your wings And take to the sky."
Humming.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Audience Participation
There was me thinking cycling to work was a solitary occupation. The kind of thing poets and philosophers might happily participate in. Long periods of no company but your own, in your own world, free to muse on the accumulation of litter around the Lower Broughton McDonalds, free to consider the state of the pot holes and drainage as you circle Cheetham Hill and to contemplate the permanent all season puddle along the Alan Turing Way.
Imagine, therefore, my surprise at finding my ride from work was in fact a spectator participation event. There I am, minding my own business, pedalling steadily away through the roads around the Salford Student Village, being mindful of progress across the roundabout in readiness for the one and only minor uphill on the way home when suddenly, there it is. A shout. A coach style "Pick it up" is yelled at me from the side of the road. And indeed I do pick it up, because that was the plan anyway. Still, nice to feel part of something bigger.
This morning, in honour of the start of British Summer time (I believe the finish is next week) I am wearing light weight walking shorts over my lycra. Do not be fooled, this was not through some misplaced belief the weather would actually be sunny. Indeed it related more to an anticipation of rain. The lightweight shorts will not flap like sodden sails around my legs when the rain starts and in showers will be quick drying too. But short they are, and the shortness is noticed. Hoots happen.
Imagine, therefore, my surprise at finding my ride from work was in fact a spectator participation event. There I am, minding my own business, pedalling steadily away through the roads around the Salford Student Village, being mindful of progress across the roundabout in readiness for the one and only minor uphill on the way home when suddenly, there it is. A shout. A coach style "Pick it up" is yelled at me from the side of the road. And indeed I do pick it up, because that was the plan anyway. Still, nice to feel part of something bigger.
This morning, in honour of the start of British Summer time (I believe the finish is next week) I am wearing light weight walking shorts over my lycra. Do not be fooled, this was not through some misplaced belief the weather would actually be sunny. Indeed it related more to an anticipation of rain. The lightweight shorts will not flap like sodden sails around my legs when the rain starts and in showers will be quick drying too. But short they are, and the shortness is noticed. Hoots happen.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Zipping up
I'm in the mood for buying clothes. After all, my weight has now come down to 62 kilos and my bum has finally reached dimensions I feel are civilised and worthy of new apparel. The range of women's bike clothing for the non lycra brigade is not encouraging.
I cycle in padded shorts underneath a outer layer which protects my modesty and in winter my calves from the cold. Outer layers I have worn with some success have been the fat face brand of three quarter length trousers, although each pair only lasts one cycling season. The short length means no chain capture issues, and the material is relatively well wearing. The later version had toggles at the waist to adjust so you could get them just right, after all, riding the bike can have you at a peculiar angle compared to walking trousers, and bulky belts are not great. I find high waisted really useful too, anything that doesn't interfere with breathing when you're using every inch of lung capacity. The major advantage to these has been the zipped pocket on the leg. Trousers with convenient places for car keys. The last pair had zipped front pockets too which opened all kinds of possibilities for carrying loose change and the odd chewy bar.
Finding a replacement has proved difficult. I have some Asda George supermarket 3/4 length capri pants but they wear out a lot quicker and none of them seems to think having pockets which stuff doesn' fall out of is a priority. I was aghast to find this year's fat face model didn't have zippy pockets on the legs so the hunt has been on.
Surf / beach shorts were suggested by some women online, but looking at them, the sparsity of pockets was appalling. Does no-one out there feel a need to keep their car keys somewhere secure?
Crag hoppers looked like offering some possibilities, but again when you look closely they tend to have one zip pocket at the back. Just where you sit on the saddle. No thanks, I don't think so.
Don't get me started on cycle specific / mountain biking clothing. Frankly they just don't make it for girls. I have one pair of supposedly women's specific shorts and I've never seen anything more badly proportioned. Oh, and what is it with everything needing to be black or white for us girls. What's wrong with red or blue or brown or green or indeed patterned. See what I did there? Yes, didn't request pink.
Finally in desperation I have purchased online a pair of Columbia walking shorts. They have a zip pocket on the leg. Not really sure they'll have the stretch for the cycling movement, but I can but try. Sigh.
I cycle in padded shorts underneath a outer layer which protects my modesty and in winter my calves from the cold. Outer layers I have worn with some success have been the fat face brand of three quarter length trousers, although each pair only lasts one cycling season. The short length means no chain capture issues, and the material is relatively well wearing. The later version had toggles at the waist to adjust so you could get them just right, after all, riding the bike can have you at a peculiar angle compared to walking trousers, and bulky belts are not great. I find high waisted really useful too, anything that doesn't interfere with breathing when you're using every inch of lung capacity. The major advantage to these has been the zipped pocket on the leg. Trousers with convenient places for car keys. The last pair had zipped front pockets too which opened all kinds of possibilities for carrying loose change and the odd chewy bar.
Finding a replacement has proved difficult. I have some Asda George supermarket 3/4 length capri pants but they wear out a lot quicker and none of them seems to think having pockets which stuff doesn' fall out of is a priority. I was aghast to find this year's fat face model didn't have zippy pockets on the legs so the hunt has been on.
Surf / beach shorts were suggested by some women online, but looking at them, the sparsity of pockets was appalling. Does no-one out there feel a need to keep their car keys somewhere secure?
Crag hoppers looked like offering some possibilities, but again when you look closely they tend to have one zip pocket at the back. Just where you sit on the saddle. No thanks, I don't think so.
Don't get me started on cycle specific / mountain biking clothing. Frankly they just don't make it for girls. I have one pair of supposedly women's specific shorts and I've never seen anything more badly proportioned. Oh, and what is it with everything needing to be black or white for us girls. What's wrong with red or blue or brown or green or indeed patterned. See what I did there? Yes, didn't request pink.
Finally in desperation I have purchased online a pair of Columbia walking shorts. They have a zip pocket on the leg. Not really sure they'll have the stretch for the cycling movement, but I can but try. Sigh.
Sunday, 1 May 2011
Dress Sense
One of the great things about the hybrid bike is that I don't feel some kind of misguided peer pressure to affect cycling clothing. I can sling on a t-shirt of any variety and a pair of 3/4 length trousers (with cycling shorts for comfort underneath) and just head out. I don't feel the need to match specialist gear to a specialist bike in the way I do the mountain bike, just get out there in civvies. Makes a spontaneous or indeed covert bike ride entirely possible and speedy. Great thing about this bike too is that I feel it's somehow OK to not go for a serious ride, but with an hour of time on my hands get out there for a spin, and an hour is fine because this is not "serious" riding but leisure spinning or more often, simply transport. So trotted out the bike on Thursday afternoon at about 1:45 knowing I needed to leave home in the car at 3pm to head off to North Wales.
The advantage of knowing you only have an hour (I built in some time to shower afterwards) is that you can chose to hit the pedals hard, get the lungs gasping in a short space of time, safe in the knowledge you only have an hour, and how much damage and pain can you inflict upon yourself in that time, truly? Freedom too of not carrying a rucksack or a pannier, as all you really need for such a short ride is a teeny saddle pack complete with tyre levers, spare inner tube and teeny tiny mini pump. Freedom can be easy.
Checking my yellowing bruises nearly daily but have reached the conclusion that attendance at next week's christening will have to be in a maxi dress. My legs look like I have been beaten.
The advantage of knowing you only have an hour (I built in some time to shower afterwards) is that you can chose to hit the pedals hard, get the lungs gasping in a short space of time, safe in the knowledge you only have an hour, and how much damage and pain can you inflict upon yourself in that time, truly? Freedom too of not carrying a rucksack or a pannier, as all you really need for such a short ride is a teeny saddle pack complete with tyre levers, spare inner tube and teeny tiny mini pump. Freedom can be easy.
Checking my yellowing bruises nearly daily but have reached the conclusion that attendance at next week's christening will have to be in a maxi dress. My legs look like I have been beaten.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Nice legs
Not so nice legs. I am a little concerned about a Christening I'm attending in around 10 days time and the implication of the enormous bruises on my legs on the proposed outfit for the occasion. Wondering, in fact, if I might be wisest to make the decision now to swap to maxi dress or indeed to trousers.
Following a wee tumble at Dalby Forest last weekend the bruise which is approximately 7 inches in height on the back of my calf has gone through yellow and red and black to now having a black circumference and a relatively normal appearance centre. It has, however been joined by minor incidental bruises from touches on the pedals or rocks or frame or indeed gardening incidents with spade, fork, etc. So much bruising has happened on my legs that in the bath last night trying to wash off the gardening grime I was somewhat surprised to find my leg remained mostly dirt coloured after a good body scrub. Ooops. I am bruised.
It's been fun though, wearing shorts and 3/4 length trousers. I imagine I look committed to the cycling cause and like some desperado woman who is hard core and not scared to push it. Pretty much a reflection of reality in some ways. I look 'ard. Don't mess with me.
Following a wee tumble at Dalby Forest last weekend the bruise which is approximately 7 inches in height on the back of my calf has gone through yellow and red and black to now having a black circumference and a relatively normal appearance centre. It has, however been joined by minor incidental bruises from touches on the pedals or rocks or frame or indeed gardening incidents with spade, fork, etc. So much bruising has happened on my legs that in the bath last night trying to wash off the gardening grime I was somewhat surprised to find my leg remained mostly dirt coloured after a good body scrub. Ooops. I am bruised.
It's been fun though, wearing shorts and 3/4 length trousers. I imagine I look committed to the cycling cause and like some desperado woman who is hard core and not scared to push it. Pretty much a reflection of reality in some ways. I look 'ard. Don't mess with me.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Tummy Tuck
The sunny weather brought out the lycra. Big time. On me. This brought with it unexpected vanities. Dressed in a fitted but not tight t-shirt I paired this up with a pair of proper cycling shorts a la Aldi supermarket supplier of choice to Alison. Found myself struggling on the long drag into town with breathing and position, and realised to my horror the shorts made me do it. Made me hold my stomach in. Which was obviously stopping my lungs operating as effectively as they might.
Weird, the old bugbear of vanity. Once I was aware of it, obviously my first reaction was to be horrified that I was as shallow as the next woman, and indeed obviously far more shallow. I'm no super model but I'm not a wallowing whale. Having reached the grand old age of 42 without going through childbirth I don't have the perfectly understandable post pregnant woman issues of love handles and saggy tummy, just a firm and acceptable slight curve in that general vicinity. So what am I doing trying to hold my belly in? Cars pass me, cyclists pass me, I pass cyclists, I pass walking peoples (can't quite get my head round the word pedestrian sometimes), and frankly a) I see them for a fraction of a minute and b) I won't ever see them again. Still the logic is weird, because having said my first reaction was one of horror, my second was one of trying to relax the old tum. Every time my attention lapsed though, there it was again, stomach being held in.
The moral of this story? Baggy Shorts.
Weird, the old bugbear of vanity. Once I was aware of it, obviously my first reaction was to be horrified that I was as shallow as the next woman, and indeed obviously far more shallow. I'm no super model but I'm not a wallowing whale. Having reached the grand old age of 42 without going through childbirth I don't have the perfectly understandable post pregnant woman issues of love handles and saggy tummy, just a firm and acceptable slight curve in that general vicinity. So what am I doing trying to hold my belly in? Cars pass me, cyclists pass me, I pass cyclists, I pass walking peoples (can't quite get my head round the word pedestrian sometimes), and frankly a) I see them for a fraction of a minute and b) I won't ever see them again. Still the logic is weird, because having said my first reaction was one of horror, my second was one of trying to relax the old tum. Every time my attention lapsed though, there it was again, stomach being held in.
The moral of this story? Baggy Shorts.
Friday, 8 April 2011
Scrumptious Scarborough
Ah, another illicit evening spent poring over an ordnance survey map. This time OL27 was the subject of my clandestine activity. Somehow I have managed to book a camping wigwam (for this please read wooden shed with nearby toilet and shower facilities) near Dalby Forest at the weekend of the National Points Series. (NPS) Bit of an own goal as the purpose of being in that location was to get down and get dirty with the Red route at Dalby which it now seems is partially closed for the NPS event. I actually investigated the possibility of entering the race simply in order to ride the route ... but I'd be a bit of an obstacle to the other riders really. Besides which, what would I wear?
Anyway, never one to let a minor obstacle become a major impediment, an alternative plan in the area is now under scrutiny. Shall I do a coastal route, find another bridleway and make a journey rather than complete a trail. Will I take cake? (of course).
It's a weekend with three mates, one of whom is some kind of lightweight racing whippet with youth, talent and skill on her side. Don't you just hate people like that? Another is her bloke, a somewhat thickset Dane but nonetheless with sufficient skills on the bike to whoop my arse. Bringing up the rear is the Scottish midget and of course me. I've spent the last three months not getting left behind so this one's going to be a reality check for me. I need that.
Anyway, never one to let a minor obstacle become a major impediment, an alternative plan in the area is now under scrutiny. Shall I do a coastal route, find another bridleway and make a journey rather than complete a trail. Will I take cake? (of course).
It's a weekend with three mates, one of whom is some kind of lightweight racing whippet with youth, talent and skill on her side. Don't you just hate people like that? Another is her bloke, a somewhat thickset Dane but nonetheless with sufficient skills on the bike to whoop my arse. Bringing up the rear is the Scottish midget and of course me. I've spent the last three months not getting left behind so this one's going to be a reality check for me. I need that.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Belt and Braces
When I first got back on the bike as an adult in my 30s I made a commitment ... a financial commitment initially. I needed a bike. The Ridgeback hybrid came into my life as my commuter machine. At the same time, clothing reared its ugly head. Somehow it was no longer de rigueur to cycle in jeans with clips to stop them catching in the chain. Also, comfort came into it. How come as a teenager cycling saddles never gave me a moment's ... um ... difficulty? Anyway, I was handed a pass me down pair of cycling shorts by my then boss, and so I approached the world of lycra with a pair of Gan shorts (professional cycling team of the 1990s). That really was the start of a gentle but slippy slope up which I will never return.
So, clothing. I gradually acquired, mostly through Aldi supermarket seasonal offers, various pairs of cycling shorts, then a cycling top or two (longer in the back and with zipped pockets on the back). Then there was an end of season sale jacket with longer back and vents under the arms and no hood. Fantastically well suited to cycling. There was of course a helmet too. Since those days many items have been upgraded, the first jacket was replaced by a second, was replaced by a third, each more tailored somehow to a cycling need - waterproof, windproof, breathable - all these words have entered my cycle clothing vocabulary.
Some fashion disasters have crept in; things I love for their practicality and definitely not appearance. The infamous Ronhills. These are wonderful - Ronhill bikesters. A very practical black, close fitting but not the lycra which wraps round your skin (definitely a plus when you're no longer 18). An inside pocket for keys, reflective stripes on the back, straps which go under the feet which stop them riding up. They are ugly but they will never die. I have fallen off in them acquiring copious bruises, gouges and scratches myself and not a mark on the damn pants. They dry in no time and mud simply brushes off. Fashion faux pas but what do I care, it's all about the bike.
These days I make a lot more effort on the bike than I used to, and gasp my way up rocky terrain on various hillsides of the North West. Cycling shorts in these circumstances impede my breathing somewhat, the elastic seems to get me just where my lower lungs are feebly attempting to push against the shorts which are determined to hold me all in like a good control knicker. Combine that with a low bent over position on the bike and we have a problem, or at the very least an issue. Talking to a sports scientist (as you do, or I do anyway in my line of work), he advised that when young people (who it seems are made of elastic) train and become fitter and lung capacity increases it's normal for this to be visible in body changes with the chest increasing in size. When old burds such as me get fitter, assuming we were not in the habit of fitness in our youth (valid assumption) the lung capacity increase is reflected in body shape with the abdomen increasing as our lower lungs expand with the desperate need for more oxygen supply. This would explain my shorts elastic issues. This year, therefore, I think is the year to invest in bib shorts. Just hope they don't cause nipple abrasions.
So, clothing. I gradually acquired, mostly through Aldi supermarket seasonal offers, various pairs of cycling shorts, then a cycling top or two (longer in the back and with zipped pockets on the back). Then there was an end of season sale jacket with longer back and vents under the arms and no hood. Fantastically well suited to cycling. There was of course a helmet too. Since those days many items have been upgraded, the first jacket was replaced by a second, was replaced by a third, each more tailored somehow to a cycling need - waterproof, windproof, breathable - all these words have entered my cycle clothing vocabulary.
Some fashion disasters have crept in; things I love for their practicality and definitely not appearance. The infamous Ronhills. These are wonderful - Ronhill bikesters. A very practical black, close fitting but not the lycra which wraps round your skin (definitely a plus when you're no longer 18). An inside pocket for keys, reflective stripes on the back, straps which go under the feet which stop them riding up. They are ugly but they will never die. I have fallen off in them acquiring copious bruises, gouges and scratches myself and not a mark on the damn pants. They dry in no time and mud simply brushes off. Fashion faux pas but what do I care, it's all about the bike.
These days I make a lot more effort on the bike than I used to, and gasp my way up rocky terrain on various hillsides of the North West. Cycling shorts in these circumstances impede my breathing somewhat, the elastic seems to get me just where my lower lungs are feebly attempting to push against the shorts which are determined to hold me all in like a good control knicker. Combine that with a low bent over position on the bike and we have a problem, or at the very least an issue. Talking to a sports scientist (as you do, or I do anyway in my line of work), he advised that when young people (who it seems are made of elastic) train and become fitter and lung capacity increases it's normal for this to be visible in body changes with the chest increasing in size. When old burds such as me get fitter, assuming we were not in the habit of fitness in our youth (valid assumption) the lung capacity increase is reflected in body shape with the abdomen increasing as our lower lungs expand with the desperate need for more oxygen supply. This would explain my shorts elastic issues. This year, therefore, I think is the year to invest in bib shorts. Just hope they don't cause nipple abrasions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)