Wholistic Fitness

Tales From The Kingdom of Cardio



” Embrace the difficulty and deal with it;racing bikes is all yoga. ” Photo/Waynewilliamsstudio.com

The smell of TriFlow lubricating my bicycle chain is to me this morning, a more profound incense than Nag Champa. It�s 7:15 am. Most men my age, if not still asleep, are sucking coffee as preparation for washing their car(s) before a long day of supersetting football and beer. My Sunday morning felt to me more worthwhile of a human endeavor; i was preparing to race my bicycle.

Just describing todays 54-mile race route is enough to shudder my heart rate. CSUN University, which lies smack dab in the flats of San Fernando Valley, is the start line. Nearly forty brilliantly colored racers noodled south until we could soar east on Ventura Blvd. A gentlemanly speed of about 25 miles per hour quickly simmered down to an almost reasonable 16mph up the 3 kilometer climb of Sepulveda Pass. It was still early and �E�, a somewhat brash, young professional had returned to our local training races from Europe. He, along with three other Category 1/2�s, wisely kept the amateurs in the peleton in check on the climbs to ensure an appropriate pace and tempo. More than a few racers had a spot of difficulty and were already off the back by the time the summit tunnel was left behind.

Down into Brentwood, a sprint prime awaits; these preordained points are a race within a race. After an ideal morning of pranayam and feeling light and strong thanks to my morning bowel movement (Oh, thank you Dr. Chen for Slim Caps and Fibertone!), my legs felt whippy; i came hard around the wheel of �Big Bart� and charged up a headwall clicking 36 mph, a speed high enough to manufacture a gap for my teammate and set him up for the sprint. He did not win the sprint however. �E� did.

Mile 16: another sprint prime along San Vincente Boulevard, the famous tree lined �fitness boulevard� in Santa Monica where everyday hundreds of beautiful people jog, skate, and cycle within sight of the Pacific Ocean. It�s all very much like Make-Believe until you live here for awhile. I got third in the sketchy sprint finish, as my teammate nabbed second. Here, after the second sprint the racers have a choice. Turn left and pedal down Ocean Avenue, stop at the Rose Cafe for coffee and then retrace the route back to the Valley.

Or…

turn right, drop to the Pacific Coast Highway and hang on for dear fucking life as the hard men nail your butt to your lungs as they hammer up the coast for 4 miles before spontaneously combusting whoever is left on a knee breaking 10 mile climb up Old Topanga Pass.

i turned right. i simply never learn.

�E� and Gus and some very fit looking guy with a Lotto Domo jersey pulled our group of now 16 remaining racers up the coast into a onshore cross wind at an astonishing 29 mph. Never allowing more than a few inches between my front tire and the rear tire of the racer in front of me, it was all Aerobic Zen as i hung onto my treasured fifth spot in our slender pace line roaring up the coast. The marine layer wrapped about my bike and breath like a wet, lingering whisper.

The dreaded right hand turn came up way too fast. Up and into Topanga Canyon we charged like multicolored Warrior Knights dashing onto a battlefield. The marine layer crumbled into sunshine. The wet whisper of the ocean fog transformed into audible whimpers from the racers as �E��s crushing pace up the climb began to intensify. A few kilometers into the climb an 18% headwall bitch slapped our acidic legs and instilled doubt into our heaving lungs. A strong rider here can motor up this terrain at over 10 mph and sustain it. Most cannot and will �pop� off the back of the leaders to wallow in their own oxygen debt hell. I fell off the pace as �E� kept accelerating up, up and away like some giant frog leaping up the waterfalls of pavement. Damned strong kid.

Pratyahara or �sense withdrawal� is the fifth limb of Patanjali�s Ashtanga Yoga. As my heart rate climbed into the Ozone up this mountain, i applied Pratyahara. I turned my bike into my yoga mat and coerced my ego to settle down. This is not a time to judge my effort harshly, but rather wisely. Embrace the difficulty and deal with it;racing bikes is all yoga. Everything is yoga. It�s easy to let self doubt defeat the undisciplined mind during high end suffering moments like this one. I retreated to a more sustainable pace which for me this morning up that steep climb was about 9.5 mph, fast enough to keep the top five guys in sight, yet slow enough so i did not blow up like the guys behind me.

So much about life, like racing, is about learning the Art of Pacing.

I have been practicing spinning my legs at a high speed for some time. I did so now. I spun my pedals at a cadence of no less than 100 rpm. This preserves precious energy and keeps power in a cellular reservoir for later in the race. Retreating into my breath and pedaling technique, i focused on the most simplest of cycling maneuvers; spine flat, lumbar spine arched, elbows low, shoulders relaxed, and…keep spinning my legs like a runaway bandit.

Within 8 minutes of this climbing meditation, i bridged to fifth place. I accelerated past �Mondo� as fast as i could, thus stabbing a psychological knife into his already bleeding confidence. Hey, it�s a race baby…if you don�t want to race, stay home and wash your damned car. Out here, it�s sweat and self-propelled inner power baby! Pass someone or get passed!

7 minutes later I was feeling the Pran! I felt the luxury of having years of the SUNRIDER herbs produce a light body with a jet engine. i felt a shock of deep hearted gratitude for getting out of bed to do such brave and noble exercise efforts like this one… i churned around a corner…there, glinting in the canyon light fourth place! A carrot dangling in front of me; into my lowest, most aerodynamic body position i dropped, just like in my HP Yoga Sun Salutations. i slammed my chain into a bigger gear…i was like Lance time trialing up Alpe du Huez! (Hey, i can pretend too, you know!).

The canyon pavement seemed a blur beneath my bicycle. I caught Bill, the fourth place straggler…he was Hurtin� with a capital �H�;

�C�mon bro, they ain�t that far ahead,� i wheezed, �get on my wheel, let�s chase �em down!�

Inspired to have someone which with to share my suffering, i recovered a bit as Bill took a short pull. I pulled around him and pressed our pace to over 20 mph uphill, baby! i was ZONED! suddenly, the top three leaders were 800 meters in front of us…

400…

200…

ooooooh, the PAIN!!!!!!

the last few hundred meters of bridging up to leaders are always the most difficult of all…

100…

i came around Bill one final time and plastered my heart rate like spackling on drywall…

we did it!!

We caught the leaders! Psyched! Bravery and Noble Effort sang within me!

Hold the Heralding:

3 more miles and 800� of climbing to go until the summit still remained!

NOT so Psyched!!!

Lactic Acid and cross-eyed fatigue stung within me!

Road Racing Pain Management 101:

Get onto the wheel in front of you and just breathe. Don�t think about the hurt; just breathe. Your spirit will take care of you.

The five of us were now dancing up the final headwalls in tempo when one of those funny things happened; �E� was putting his windbreaker in his jersey pocket when he dropped it.

�Oh, dude! You rookied it!� i heard myself saying aloud to him. That was NOT a wise thing to say to a pro cyclist.

�Fuck!� he said, swerving out of our group to go fetch it.

I looked at Gus. Should we be like Italians and attack �Arrogant E� now that he had goofed?

Gus started to press the throttle…i held his wheel as long as i could. i got gapped then passed by �Lotto Domo.� Fuck! Worse, i knew �E� would be hollerin� piss fire at me for that �Rookie� comment so i was determined not to let him catch me. The summit lingered endlessly ahead like a mirage. i pressed as much vigor into my pedals as i could muster while checking beneath my left armpit to see if �E� was catching me. Yep. There he was charging up the slope less than 300 meters behind me. He was out of his saddle in full on attack mode. 400 meters to go. i shifted into a bigger gear. i could now make out the grimace of �E.� I could see the whites of his eyes…dat�s right Big Boy, you like �dis shit? Bring it on, sucka! You ain�t so bad! 100 meters…i was now stomping on my pedals charging like a bull toward the summit…nearly overtaking second place, i was elated to have taken third at the top. THE PODIUM baby!

Understand something here, Wholistic Fitness Warriors; i train on my bicycle a mere fraction of the time these guys do.

i study the same Path you do: i strength train. i do yoga. i meditate each day. i nourish my body with cruelty free herbs. i do my best to consciously live lightly and kindly upon Mother Earth. i use wide-spectrum fitness as a source of spiritual and personal growth.

here, is what these guys do:

�) eat

�) shit

�) ride bike

�) sleep.

That�s it.

i know from experience. i know pro endurance athletes.

Most do not do yoga. Most do not meditate. Most eat like crap. Most can�t bench press more than a Egg McMuffin, let alone do a Hang Clean or a Pull Up.

Swooping like a falcon into a curve at 38 mph on the descent, morning sunshine illuminated that peculiar joy within me that absolutely relishes the invisible fact: I can still finish with these top cyclists at my age while enjoying an Wholistic Fitness level far beyond the grasp of these predictable, specific specialists.

Wholistic Fitness, baby; ain�t nothing as effective at all around fitness. Get out there today, Noble Warriors! Test your fitness; test the SUNRIDER herbs…test your High Performance Yoga! Test your meditation by doing something that really pushes you…

If it don�t break you…

it�ll make you more than just stronger,

it will make you

a

Warrior Within!

i bow to you…

your feeble coach