Everyone who has ever been injured knows the frustration... you cant ride, or ride well, but your friends can. You know, the frozen face... "Oh, that's sooooo GREAT!!!!" comment when they do well, when you are stuck at home. Not that I'm not happy or anything, but lets face it, you vs. me... I'm small enough, that you loose. Kind of, except that I really am glad for you, mostly.
Here is my physical therapy torture of the day.... get strapped in and attached to a thingie in the ceiling... and then WALK on a treadmill at 1.5 mph. Easy? Too easy? Now turn 1/4 turn to the left, and don't trip over your feet and now walk side ways. Then turn 1/4 and walk backwards... turn 1/4 and walk sideways and then repeat... Now bump up the speed and reverse it.
Ok, try that and then tell me about your latest fast ride. I must have clown feet.., and about fell on my face. But... I am retraining my hip, and I am getting used to the heel lifts. And maybe when I'm thru suffering thru this shit my hip will last a few more years.
Of course I had my own experience tonight... Karen vs. the trailer. I went out after a very brief thunderstorm that barely lowered the 100+ degree temps, and increased significantly the already ghastly humidity. On the way back, on a very narrow road, I could see the on coming truck. And... I could hear the truck coming from behind. Then I heard the trailer the truck coming from behind... you know, the out of control, bouncing, completely out of control, kill you in a heart beat trailer noise that strikes fear into every rural cyclist noise? Yeah, that one... And I didn't hear the truck behind me slowing, and didn't see the truck in front of me slowing, and I knew that things were about to get tight, quick.
So I took that page out of the Steve Martin skit about "Gettin' Small!" Which I have perfected at work... and did my darnedest to just disappear... And somehow, by the grace of God, I got so small that I squeezed thru. Deep breath, and a wee bit of pee later, I made it.
Guys, you aren't the only ones. Women CAN pee on the bike. I proved it.
Oh well. It's true.
And...
While you were racing and kicking butt I came up with the PERFECT panini recipe... Enjoy!
1 loaf of your favorite panini style bread
Really good brie cheese
1 nicely ripe pear
oven roasted turkey breast
Pam Olive oil spray
thinly slice the bread, layer thin slices of pear, thick slices of turkey and med. slices of brie...heat your panini press (0r like I use a George Forman Lean Mean Fat Grillin' Machine) and spray the bread with olive oil Pam... Heat until the bread caramelizes but doesn't burn...
Then Eat! Damn, they're good! Just a hint of sweetness from the pear, mixed with the meaty goodness of the turkey is wonderful! Easy, smeazy. Yum~ (BTW... serve with a nice Riesling or Savignon Blanc... )
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Please run over ESPN employees...
No I dont mean it. Really dont mean it. But how would ESPN management feel if that was what WE were telling people to do... You know, dont run them over to kill them, just to hurt them bad enough that they couldnt tell people to hurt US.
I called ESPN and told them flatly that if they dont fire Tony Kornheiser, I'm going on a letter writing campaign. To their advertisers. Hit them where the rubber meets the road, or something like that. Fringe group? Uh, look at the typical cyclist= well educated, highly employed, with discretionary spending. If we all ever decided to make a change, we could do it by our sheer economic force alone.
I'm very lucky living out in the hinterlands where most people know me. Instead of having bottles thrown at me, I usually get a friendly waive. On the rare time that something gets said to me, its usually that, a word.
Not everyone is so lucky. To have this come on the heels of a cyclist killed in NC while riding on the SHOULDER...
Tony Kornheiser, I surely hope your days are numbered.
I called ESPN and told them flatly that if they dont fire Tony Kornheiser, I'm going on a letter writing campaign. To their advertisers. Hit them where the rubber meets the road, or something like that. Fringe group? Uh, look at the typical cyclist= well educated, highly employed, with discretionary spending. If we all ever decided to make a change, we could do it by our sheer economic force alone.
I'm very lucky living out in the hinterlands where most people know me. Instead of having bottles thrown at me, I usually get a friendly waive. On the rare time that something gets said to me, its usually that, a word.
Not everyone is so lucky. To have this come on the heels of a cyclist killed in NC while riding on the SHOULDER...
Tony Kornheiser, I surely hope your days are numbered.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Just a little less of me
A friend sent me an email complaining that the blogisphere has gotten a wee bit empty with my absence. While I seriously doubt that anyone notices, here we go...
Its been an interesting winter. Interesting is a good word... kind of leaves a nebulous feel to it without actually describing anything. Somehow that is a pretty good description of a winter full of snow, little to no riding, stress, tummy troubles that I thought was stress, and my new black, blue, green and yellow tummy.
Turns out stress has a new name, gall bladder. Yeah mine turned out to be defective and had to come out. Once Marc got his hands to stop shaking, he ripped it out. Or maybe thats why I have 4 holes... too much shaking. I thought that Marc had two hands, the other holes must have been for PRACTICE!
Now I did notice in the photos that Marc gave me that there was some extraneous yellow stuff left over. I would have thought that a buddy would have taken that out while he was in there dumpster diving through my intestines.
The worst part? Choose one... mouth like the Sahara until my bestest buddy J snuck me diet Cokes. (which she got yelled at for doing, but J was not going to let her fearless leader damn die of thirst...) Almost barfing in J's car on the way home even though J was technically going the speed limit as she hit every pothole on Patterson Ave... Or maybe being 8 months pregnant for days with the mother of all gas bubbles... My pick, itchy surgical glue. I'm thinking its a new torture device.
The best part? The best friends a cranky girl could ever have. From Mike who drove me at 5 am, to J who made sure that I was taken care of, Marc and crew who put up with my weird sense of humor (although the Scottish anesthesiologist didn't quite appreciate my saying that Marc was going to rip anything out... ) and all my buds that made sure that I laughed my way through it all.
In the meantime, until I can write about getting dropped in races, here is a treat for my vegetarian fans. Us carnivores like it, too!
Garlicy white bean dip
1 15 oz can of cannelloni beans
2 tbsp of roast garlic (recipe below)
dash of olive oil
pinch of salt
get a nice size head of your favorite garlic, cut the top of the head off and lightly anoint with olive oil. Put in tin foil and bake in the oven for 40 min at 350 degrees. Peel off any extra "paper" and squeeze the now roasted garlic out into a bowl. Mash. (You can use this as a spread all on its own, the roasting takes out the harsh garlic taste. Honest)
Drain beans and heat in the microzapper for 1 minute. Put beans, garlic paste, a splash of olive oil and a pinch of salt into a food processor. Whip into a smooth consistency.
Yum, yum, good. Serve on pita chips, make a great sandwich with roasted veggies, or a dip for veggies. Yum. Really.
Its been an interesting winter. Interesting is a good word... kind of leaves a nebulous feel to it without actually describing anything. Somehow that is a pretty good description of a winter full of snow, little to no riding, stress, tummy troubles that I thought was stress, and my new black, blue, green and yellow tummy.
Turns out stress has a new name, gall bladder. Yeah mine turned out to be defective and had to come out. Once Marc got his hands to stop shaking, he ripped it out. Or maybe thats why I have 4 holes... too much shaking. I thought that Marc had two hands, the other holes must have been for PRACTICE!
Now I did notice in the photos that Marc gave me that there was some extraneous yellow stuff left over. I would have thought that a buddy would have taken that out while he was in there dumpster diving through my intestines.
The worst part? Choose one... mouth like the Sahara until my bestest buddy J snuck me diet Cokes. (which she got yelled at for doing, but J was not going to let her fearless leader damn die of thirst...) Almost barfing in J's car on the way home even though J was technically going the speed limit as she hit every pothole on Patterson Ave... Or maybe being 8 months pregnant for days with the mother of all gas bubbles... My pick, itchy surgical glue. I'm thinking its a new torture device.
The best part? The best friends a cranky girl could ever have. From Mike who drove me at 5 am, to J who made sure that I was taken care of, Marc and crew who put up with my weird sense of humor (although the Scottish anesthesiologist didn't quite appreciate my saying that Marc was going to rip anything out... ) and all my buds that made sure that I laughed my way through it all.
In the meantime, until I can write about getting dropped in races, here is a treat for my vegetarian fans. Us carnivores like it, too!
Garlicy white bean dip
1 15 oz can of cannelloni beans
2 tbsp of roast garlic (recipe below)
dash of olive oil
pinch of salt
get a nice size head of your favorite garlic, cut the top of the head off and lightly anoint with olive oil. Put in tin foil and bake in the oven for 40 min at 350 degrees. Peel off any extra "paper" and squeeze the now roasted garlic out into a bowl. Mash. (You can use this as a spread all on its own, the roasting takes out the harsh garlic taste. Honest)
Drain beans and heat in the microzapper for 1 minute. Put beans, garlic paste, a splash of olive oil and a pinch of salt into a food processor. Whip into a smooth consistency.
Yum, yum, good. Serve on pita chips, make a great sandwich with roasted veggies, or a dip for veggies. Yum. Really.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Germs, or how I came to love the new TV...
Wednesday of last week I had a ripping headache. That's kind of to be expected as work has been a wee bit stressful as of late. Thursday, the ripping headache had a serious sinus aspect to it. I still managed to get in a fairly decent run, however. Yeah, unless you were watching me coughing up lung cheese...
Friday morning, Cliff blessed me by running with me. Seriously, almost all of my runs have been alone alone'O. Having someone else along to kick my butt is a very desirable thing. Unfortunately, about mile 2.5 I had to make an exit, stage left. I was getting dizzy, my heart was racing, and I felt like 6 gnomes were sitting on my chest.
No worries though, it didn't stop me from eating breakfast later at Panera. Sick, yes. Anorexic, not a chance...
Saturday was worse. Sunday was even worse.
Cliff gave me the Antichrist for Christmas. Yeah, a 42" plasma tv. Its HUGE. (And as my friend Marky Mark says, HDTV has ruined porn...) He's right. You can see every pore on every actor. In case you thought they were better looking than you... NOT! Ok, maybe they are, but they have zits, too.
Saturday I watched a whole afternoon of America's Next Top Model. Yeah, I know it doesn't exactly fit. Watching all the angst of trying to be perfect, just had a little poetic justice to it. This said from someone whose only piece of jewelry that is normally worn is a Timex Ironman Watch. You know, the 30 lap one.
Sunday, there was a House marathon on USA. Now I know marathons. All 23 of them. A tv show is not a marathon. Even if they show it all day... Ok, but now I'm hooked. Who couldn't be hooked on a vicodin addicted doctor, who actually figures things out and is a only a little more OCD than me? Ok, I don't understand the addiction thing. I have a whole medicine cabinet full of pain meds that I never took. I'm too scared to flush them down the commode... as I have a septic tank and I sure as hell don't want to unintentionally drink them when they filter down to the aquifer again.
But I'm sure that I probably didn't need the pain pills all those times the doctors prescribed them to me and I didn't take them. Someone was certainly flushing theirs (or peeing theirs) down the toilet and maybe that's why I never really had to take them. I probably was drinking them thru my well...
Now I just need to figure out what to do with all that stuff. It's grown to be quite the Elvis Box...
Being sick sucks. All you do is lay around, cough up all kinds of nasty gunk and think about things like Elvis boxes, the dust on the ceiling fan, and how much work is going to get you back when you return.
The dogs sure have liked having me laid up on the couch though. I guess its all in how you look at it.
Friday morning, Cliff blessed me by running with me. Seriously, almost all of my runs have been alone alone'O. Having someone else along to kick my butt is a very desirable thing. Unfortunately, about mile 2.5 I had to make an exit, stage left. I was getting dizzy, my heart was racing, and I felt like 6 gnomes were sitting on my chest.
No worries though, it didn't stop me from eating breakfast later at Panera. Sick, yes. Anorexic, not a chance...
Saturday was worse. Sunday was even worse.
Cliff gave me the Antichrist for Christmas. Yeah, a 42" plasma tv. Its HUGE. (And as my friend Marky Mark says, HDTV has ruined porn...) He's right. You can see every pore on every actor. In case you thought they were better looking than you... NOT! Ok, maybe they are, but they have zits, too.
Saturday I watched a whole afternoon of America's Next Top Model. Yeah, I know it doesn't exactly fit. Watching all the angst of trying to be perfect, just had a little poetic justice to it. This said from someone whose only piece of jewelry that is normally worn is a Timex Ironman Watch. You know, the 30 lap one.
Sunday, there was a House marathon on USA. Now I know marathons. All 23 of them. A tv show is not a marathon. Even if they show it all day... Ok, but now I'm hooked. Who couldn't be hooked on a vicodin addicted doctor, who actually figures things out and is a only a little more OCD than me? Ok, I don't understand the addiction thing. I have a whole medicine cabinet full of pain meds that I never took. I'm too scared to flush them down the commode... as I have a septic tank and I sure as hell don't want to unintentionally drink them when they filter down to the aquifer again.
But I'm sure that I probably didn't need the pain pills all those times the doctors prescribed them to me and I didn't take them. Someone was certainly flushing theirs (or peeing theirs) down the toilet and maybe that's why I never really had to take them. I probably was drinking them thru my well...
Now I just need to figure out what to do with all that stuff. It's grown to be quite the Elvis Box...
Being sick sucks. All you do is lay around, cough up all kinds of nasty gunk and think about things like Elvis boxes, the dust on the ceiling fan, and how much work is going to get you back when you return.
The dogs sure have liked having me laid up on the couch though. I guess its all in how you look at it.
Monday, December 7, 2009
I really didn't think I looked like an ax murderer...
After a really craptastic day at work, I decided to go for a run thru the high end section of Richmond. I still haven't gotten fully back in the running mode, and am full in weenie bike mode. So I had on tights, a long sleeve shirt and my garish Rostello light winter jacket. Yeah, I looked like a Christmas tree. Colorful.
As I got down by St Christophers Private School, I saw this Mercedes SUV swerve but run over something that looked like glass. As I got closer, I saw a box, and glass. Something just wasn't right.
Once I got there, I realized... not glass... roofing nails.
All those Muffy Soccer Mom's, picking up thier private school kids... rolling down that hill over roofing nails... Ok, I'm evil, but not that evil. So I started to try to get the Muffettes to stop...
Stops? Stop for the crazy woman in mis-matched running gear? Heaven forbid! You would have thought that I was an axe murderer. Or Ted Bundy. Although, Ted Bundy didn't have any trouble getting women to stop for him...
I did manage to get a couple little old ladies to stop. But they looked really scared until I told them why I was waiving them off. At this point I just got pissed and went on with my run.
On my way back there was a nice man out with a push broom trying to sweep the nails out of the road. I stopped to tell him of my earlier travails... and dodged a few cars who were determined to run our asses over. He said that he was about done trying to be nice. People just wouldn't slow down even though he was under a street light.
So if you hear of a slew of flat tires in Richmond tommorrow, don't feel sorry for the people. Us serial killers tried to warn them...
As I got down by St Christophers Private School, I saw this Mercedes SUV swerve but run over something that looked like glass. As I got closer, I saw a box, and glass. Something just wasn't right.
Once I got there, I realized... not glass... roofing nails.
All those Muffy Soccer Mom's, picking up thier private school kids... rolling down that hill over roofing nails... Ok, I'm evil, but not that evil. So I started to try to get the Muffettes to stop...
Stops? Stop for the crazy woman in mis-matched running gear? Heaven forbid! You would have thought that I was an axe murderer. Or Ted Bundy. Although, Ted Bundy didn't have any trouble getting women to stop for him...
I did manage to get a couple little old ladies to stop. But they looked really scared until I told them why I was waiving them off. At this point I just got pissed and went on with my run.
On my way back there was a nice man out with a push broom trying to sweep the nails out of the road. I stopped to tell him of my earlier travails... and dodged a few cars who were determined to run our asses over. He said that he was about done trying to be nice. People just wouldn't slow down even though he was under a street light.
So if you hear of a slew of flat tires in Richmond tommorrow, don't feel sorry for the people. Us serial killers tried to warn them...
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The new meaning of "EPIC"
I officiated today at the Virginia cyclocross champs at Darden Towe... great course, great promoter and finally, real little Belgian kind of weather. You know what I'm talking about, 30 something degrees, snow on top of slop, and a course the consistency of baby bad stuff.
Yeah, epic.
Good thing for me that I've replenished my truck after J hijacked it and cleaned it out. I had on tights, chinos, 3 shirts, a hat, a heavy jacket, gloves, wool socks and rubber rain boots. I still froze. Next time I'm putting those battery operated hunter's socks in the bike kit bag. I might as well have left the gloves at home as I couldn't write and wear them at the same time.
If there was ever a course where bike handling played a tremendous role, it was this one. If you could ride smoothly on slop, you had a great day. If you couldn't, you didn't. If you had a pit bike... you had a huge advantage. If you didn't you carried 10 lbs of ice, mud and "stuff" jammed into your brakes, deraileurs etc... There were some very talented riders out there that had a field day, and many who suffered big time. I salute you all. Just showing up on the line took a level of commitment that most racers didn't have.
First thing I did when I left the course was jack up the heat... then I stopped at the Everyday Cafe and ran my hands under hot water for a few minutes, then got a huge hot chocolate. Bet you most people did something similar. I may never be warm again.
And Glenda Craddock... you rock. You were so awsome out there and I was very, very proud of you. No way I could have kept up with you in the slop today. Gold star, girl. Big gold star.
Yeah, epic.
Good thing for me that I've replenished my truck after J hijacked it and cleaned it out. I had on tights, chinos, 3 shirts, a hat, a heavy jacket, gloves, wool socks and rubber rain boots. I still froze. Next time I'm putting those battery operated hunter's socks in the bike kit bag. I might as well have left the gloves at home as I couldn't write and wear them at the same time.
If there was ever a course where bike handling played a tremendous role, it was this one. If you could ride smoothly on slop, you had a great day. If you couldn't, you didn't. If you had a pit bike... you had a huge advantage. If you didn't you carried 10 lbs of ice, mud and "stuff" jammed into your brakes, deraileurs etc... There were some very talented riders out there that had a field day, and many who suffered big time. I salute you all. Just showing up on the line took a level of commitment that most racers didn't have.
First thing I did when I left the course was jack up the heat... then I stopped at the Everyday Cafe and ran my hands under hot water for a few minutes, then got a huge hot chocolate. Bet you most people did something similar. I may never be warm again.
And Glenda Craddock... you rock. You were so awsome out there and I was very, very proud of you. No way I could have kept up with you in the slop today. Gold star, girl. Big gold star.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Adventures with Karen & Gina, or why I will never stay at Motel 6 again...
Ok, I don't need much in a hotel. It has to be clean. It has to be safe. It can't have bugs. Just like with bike equipment pick 2 out of 3. Clean and safe, Safe and Bug free, etc...
Gina is my dog George's handler. We went on a typical Karen adventure to the Brittany Nationals in Ft Smith, Arkansas... yeah, on the Oklahoma border. Gina got to my house at 9:30 pm, and we drove straight thru, taking turns sleeping and walking dogs.
Thursday at 4 pm we arrived. Beat. We set up our equipment at the dog show site and headed to Cracker Barrel for a kick ass $8.99 turkey day dinner. Turkey, ham, veggies, stuffing, a drink and PIE! I may never cook again.
And then things got bad. Saturday night, after showing all day, we got back to Motel 6 about 1o pm. There were motocross racers in the parking lot getting a bit too wild. Two single women, 9 dogs, and a bunch of very drunk, and drugged up guys... It was not good. Then really not good.
At 10:30 they started beating on the van to make the dogs bark. Gina went out to see what was going on and one of the drunk slobs yelled at her..."What are you looking at, bitch!" They then told us that they could drink in public, they could do whatever they wanted and that I could get my liberal friends out and they'd shoot them...
So we called the front desk. The guys were not just harassing us, scaring the dogs, but also breaking glass everywhere... front desk said that they'd send a security guard...
Ten minutes later... no security guard so I called again. Finally an elderly man came, and when the guys told him that they didnt have to go in their rooms and that they'd get out a gun and start shooting people, he told us that we all should get along. Then he left. Fast.
So being dumb, I called the front desk again, and asked them to call the police. They told me they would. Not. Yeah, not.
So we sat up all night... afraid to pack up to leave as we would have to exit thru the very drugged up people. And the hotel did NOTHING to protect us.
At 5 am I went to the front desk to file a formal complaint. The receptionist looked at me like I was stupid. I guess that kind of behaviour is to be expected at Motel 6. We had planned on staying one more night before heading home, but I drove past Memphis, and got a little no-tell motel somewhere between Memphis and Knoxville.... it was quiet, it was clean, and no bugs.
Me, I'm never staying at Motel 6 again. They don't give a rats ass about their guests.
But George... made it to the very last cut at the Nationals... so close. I was so proud of him and Gina. The motel may have sucked... but Gina and George rocked the house.
Gina is my dog George's handler. We went on a typical Karen adventure to the Brittany Nationals in Ft Smith, Arkansas... yeah, on the Oklahoma border. Gina got to my house at 9:30 pm, and we drove straight thru, taking turns sleeping and walking dogs.
Thursday at 4 pm we arrived. Beat. We set up our equipment at the dog show site and headed to Cracker Barrel for a kick ass $8.99 turkey day dinner. Turkey, ham, veggies, stuffing, a drink and PIE! I may never cook again.
And then things got bad. Saturday night, after showing all day, we got back to Motel 6 about 1o pm. There were motocross racers in the parking lot getting a bit too wild. Two single women, 9 dogs, and a bunch of very drunk, and drugged up guys... It was not good. Then really not good.
At 10:30 they started beating on the van to make the dogs bark. Gina went out to see what was going on and one of the drunk slobs yelled at her..."What are you looking at, bitch!" They then told us that they could drink in public, they could do whatever they wanted and that I could get my liberal friends out and they'd shoot them...
So we called the front desk. The guys were not just harassing us, scaring the dogs, but also breaking glass everywhere... front desk said that they'd send a security guard...
Ten minutes later... no security guard so I called again. Finally an elderly man came, and when the guys told him that they didnt have to go in their rooms and that they'd get out a gun and start shooting people, he told us that we all should get along. Then he left. Fast.
So being dumb, I called the front desk again, and asked them to call the police. They told me they would. Not. Yeah, not.
So we sat up all night... afraid to pack up to leave as we would have to exit thru the very drugged up people. And the hotel did NOTHING to protect us.
At 5 am I went to the front desk to file a formal complaint. The receptionist looked at me like I was stupid. I guess that kind of behaviour is to be expected at Motel 6. We had planned on staying one more night before heading home, but I drove past Memphis, and got a little no-tell motel somewhere between Memphis and Knoxville.... it was quiet, it was clean, and no bugs.
Me, I'm never staying at Motel 6 again. They don't give a rats ass about their guests.
But George... made it to the very last cut at the Nationals... so close. I was so proud of him and Gina. The motel may have sucked... but Gina and George rocked the house.
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