Day 7: Hissy Fit

Day 7 miles to/from work: 26.8
Total miles for S4S: 197.2 

Perhaps it's boring from the reading side to hear about yet another late-summer morning with sunny skies and pleasant temps, but from the riding side I am glorying in it. Every sun ray is a gift.

Yesterday Madison was the site of Ironman Wisconsin, affectionately known as IM-Moo in these here parts. This triathlon event entails 140.6 consecutive, self-propelled miles undertaken by 2600 athletes as they swim 2.4 miles, bike 112, and run a full marathon (26.2 miles). Several of my friends crossed that finish line last night, some of them not for the first time. Although several of you kind supporters have expressed admiration that I'm putting in the Sweatin' 4 Shelter bike miles, I'm kind of "Base Metal Girl" or "Aluminum Chick" compared to these IronFolk. BUT... (and that's a big butt... er... but), who's comparing? We all are where we are right this minute, and it really doesn't much matter how it compares to anyone else. What does matter is what you and I are doing right now to be healthy and fit and meet our personal goals.

I'm proposing hissy fit. That usually connotes a flash-fire burst of temper, but in my book it describes being fit with the "It's MY fitness and health, by God, not some 19-year-old super model's or anyone else's" attitude.

If you've already got an exercise plan workin' for you, you're golden. U go! However, if punching the buttons on the remote control  has begun to feel like overwhelming exertion, it's time to make some changes. I was a couch potato until I was 30, so it's been awhile since I started putting in the miles; but I still remember clearly what worked and what didn't. Based on that first-hand experience, I offer the following suggestions:

What floats your boat?
Figure out what you like to do to move your body, or can at least tolerate. Walking? Hoisting some light dumbbells? (I am not referring to your children, but that could be an option as well.) Handball? Belly dancing? Go wild. Be Madonna and dance in your underwear. (You may want to avoid public places for this particular workout.) The library (free! free! free!) offers a wealth of books and videos so you can audition any number of possibilities.

Plan
Plan to start small and slow. This is not the time for extreme-miracle-overnight-transformation that at best could demoralize you and at worst land you in the ER. I love the story of Rosalie Bradford; and when I'm thinking maybe I'll just skip exercise today, or I'm plodding along some course at a glacial pace feeling like an under-achiever, I think of Rosalie. In 1987 she weighed almost 1200 pounds and had been bed-ridden for 8 years. A concerned friend called Richard Simmons; he called Rosalie and talked to her at length. He sent her some videos and a food plan. Rosalie jumped right out of that bed and started sweatin' to the oldies with Simmons. Oh wait... not exactly. The woman could barely move. At first the only thing she could do was clap her hands along with the videos. She did what she could at that moment, and she persisted until she could do more. Rosalie still holds the world record for having lost the most weight by a woman. Start where you are.

Plan some more
Plan your workouts. (Or as Jillian Michaels says, "Fail to plan/plan to fail." That's so negative, but unfortunately true.) Even if it's 5-10 minutes, put it on your calendar. Then do it.

Keep doing it
Do more as you can. More intensity, more exertion, over longer time periods. Build up gradually. Sensibly. Make it a balanced part of your life.

Do I practice what I preach? Yeah, usually. Always? Oh, hell no. Sometimes I skip workouts. (Note: Sweatin' 4 Shelter is not just a workout—it's a mission. I do not skip.) As for being sensible or balanced (or not), I've done five marathons; and I dream of doing Ironman someday. That's when what I  started doing for my health becomes its own disease.

As for our regularly scheduled programming: It was a gorgeous ride home. I basked in the knowledge that in the world of heavy metals, I'm building Ironthighs and Buns of Steel. Not bad for an old broad who is proud to be Hissy Fit!

Day 6: It's okay to say "Hi"

Day 6 miles to/from work: 26.8
Total miles for S4S: 170.4  

Happy P.O.E.T.S. Day!  (That's Piss On Everything, Tomorrow's Saturday.) Compared to the last mornings of mid-40s temps, it was a heat wave this a.m., with the temperature jumping up to the mid-50s. I set off in bike shorts and tank top, with my screaming yellow windbreaker for a little extra warmth. Halfway through the ride even the windbreaker was oppressive, and I was sleeveless the rest of the way in. I hope you're not bored with the daily weather reports from paradise. You know it will be a different story in a few months, which I why I didn't make this commitment for November and December.

I mentioned in yesterday's post that when I ran (or biked) an errand after work yesterday, that "detour" was ultimately shorter than my usual route. After briefly considering employing it on a regular basis, I discarded the idea. Parts of that route are just not as pleasant. But more importantly, I have begun to develop a community on my regular morning course.

On a bike path that Scott and I regularly take for our weekend rides (different from those I take to work), there is a rough, hand-lettered sign that says, "It's okay to say 'Hi'". What a good reminder for most paths in life, and make that a double for my morning journey.

I now exchange greetings with some of the cyclists I see daily, the people predictably walking their dogs on neighborhood sidewalks, the road crew doing God-knows-what on Mineral Point Road, and the three surly-looking guys smoking at the bus stop who now smirk or even grin when we exchange "hellos" and "good mornings". These are my people, my 13.4-mile neighborhood, my community. There is no way I'm trading them for the opportunity to shave 2/10 mile off my odometer, not to mention losing mileage-based pledge money for the critters. Nuh-uh, brother.

It would be easy to describe this morning's ride as uneventful. But when every moment is breathtaking (some in beauty, some in adrenaline while sharing Mineral Point with speeding cars, trucks and buses), a rabbit nests in the grass, light plays through tree arches, flowers are abundant, fall air is on my face,  and sometimes I can quiet my monkey mind enough to experience exquisite internal silence—there is neither adequate space nor words to share the never-ending panoply of events. Let it be said I got to work safely,  enveloped in my little endorphin euphoria.

The return ride home was marked by fatigued legs that felt like hamburger meat. I earned that hamburger meat, and there is great gratification that goes with that and knowing that because of your pledge, the miles on my legs translate to dollars and cents to save animals. Thank you again for your support of DCHS and this project!

Then there was the reward of blasting down hills that had been arduous climbs just 9 hours earlier. What a rush!

A few miles from  home, I was behind a cyclist in a short, tight dress and high-heeled sandals. The woman was crankin'. Okay, 15 mph is not a new land speed record, but in a dress like that? I'm not even sure how she stayed on the bike. At a red light (which she proceeded through), another cyclist and I were discussing that we were both in awe that she wasn't sweating through her clothes. He said that she is a professor at the University. All I know is that she is my action hero.

On the last leg of my journey, I took a trophy. Remember the black, sequined flip flop of Day 2? It has been treated cruelly over the past week, with the toe separator being ripped out; and left to have grass grow over it.  It is now mine and resting on Silver Beauty's rack. I haven't decided what to do with it—perhaps I should give it a decent burial.

As much as I've loved riding, I was so happy to get off Silver Beauty. As the sun was setting this evening, my last mode of transportation for the day was a boat. It was a great way to end a fantastic week.

Enjoy your weekend, and remember that it's way better than just okay to say "Hi."

Day 5: Biking or soapbox derby?

Day 5 miles to/from work: 26.6
Total miles for S4S: 143.6

Day 5 started as another beautiful morning, a few degrees warmer than the past two, but as crisp and green as a Granny Smith apple. Perfect biking weather.

The subject of my "contemplations" on this morning's ride went beyond telling myself bad jokes and defining snot rockets (see Day 4), and were more in keeping with the purpose of this project:  animal rescue. I am wrestling with philosophical questions such as:  Should dumbasses be allowed to own pets? I even Googled this exact phrase, and found the blog post,  "Should Dumbasses Be Allowed to Own Dogs?"  Oh thank the heavens, I'm not the only one with some edgy ideas here.

This line of thought was prompted by looking at one of the lost and found pet links for Bastrop, Texas, the area that has been hard hit by wildfires. I still have roots, family, friends, and a network of animal rescue buddies in Texas; and Monday I was privileged to help with some of the networking in putting help needed and help offered together in both large- and small-animal evacuation efforts. The aforementioned lost and found link was somewhat uplifting when I saw it Monday. When I looked at it this morning, I'm not sure which was more depressing—the number of dogs posted as missing or the descriptions that indicated what nitwits many of the owners are.

Prominent in way too many of the descriptions were "not neutered" and "chained outside" or "in pen outside". Great. These people have family pets that are (or were) unneutered and lived outside. I am so sorry for the devastation these folks have suffered, and this is in no way an indictment of Texas, Bastrop, or any other group of individuals—other than those who continue to support the over-population of cats and dogs, and who treat their pets in ways that make animal rescue necessary. Dumbasses.

Contrast what Dane County Humane Society (DCHS) mandates. Spaying/neutering is a requirement for all animals adopted from DCHS.* Prospective adopters must fill out an adoption application with pertinent information about where they live, their history with pets, where their pets stay (if the answer is "outside chained to a tree", you can pretty much count on that application not making the cut), who will be responsible for feeding, etc. There should be some reciprocity in assuring that the pets will allow their people at least a tiny little place on the bed and maybe even a blanket, but even DCHS has not evolved quite that far or simply didn't realize the hoggish nature of our adoptees.... But I digress.

On another tangent, a recent Madison news story reported, "The man... denied owning a baboon on two separate occasions when questioned by officials." So tell me, just how often are you questioned about your baboon ownership? Yeah, me neither. Ultimately, it turned out the denier had "Monkey", a 3-year-old baboon, living in his basement laundry room. (Hey, he at least had Monkey inside, and reports are that he had provided pretty well for him. Not surprisingly, however, Monkey was not neutered. And need I even mention that the guy falls headfirst under the "dumbass" classification?) DCHS took Monkey in and gave him a home until they were able to find a proper residence at the Born Free USA Primate Sanctuary in Texas. This demonstrates a couple of things. First, maybe it's not the pets that should be first in line for the spay/neuter programs. Secondly, DCHS rescues everything. Thank you for supporting them. By the way, if you haven't quite rounded out your Facebook friends, you can send Monkey, the rescued baboon a personal note.

I will now descend from my soapbox and onto my bike. The pictures, each in theory worth 1000 words but far less time-consuming, can speak for themselves about the ride. (I will say that on the ride home I had to detour by the WARF building mid-campus to get my free bus pass for the year, the detour was shorter than my regular route, and as a bonus I got to see the UW marching band rehearse.)

The video below shows Monkey in his new home.
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*Those which, at the time of adoption, are too young for spay/neuter or with special medical needs return for the surgery when they are old enough or in the proper medical condition.

Day 4: Not just another pretty pace

Day 4 miles to/from work: 26.8
Total miles for S4S: 117.0

The trouble with the world today is plain to see,
Is everything is hurry-hurry-hurry-hurry up.
It's rush it through, and don't be slow,
And BLT on rye to go,
With coffee (I think she said)
Coffee (I know she said)
Coffee in a cardboard cup.

The first order of business is to note passing the Sweatin' for Shelter cumulative 100-mile mark on this morning's ride in. Wooohooo! I can't remember the last time I biked 100 miles in a week. My legs are feeling a little stiff and stubborn and going a bit slower, but overall, not bad.

The day started almost identically to yesterday weather-wise—sunny and beautiful with temps in the mid-40s at departure. It was another perfect day to be on a bike.

The self-powered commute gives plenty of time for contemplation, if telling oneself bad jokes can be called "contemplation". Remember this one from junior high? "I'm built backwards. My nose runs, and my feet smell." It frequently comes to mind since something about exercise does make my nose run. When I'm biking, I usually keep a bandanna gripped in one hand, and use it frequently . Today I forgot the bandanna. (Unlike yesterday, I did remember all of my lunch, and packed slacks of an appropriate length for a professional appearance.) This means, Faithful Blog Reader, that today we are going to discuss blowing snot rockets, the act in which I was forced to engage in the absence of my bandanna. I notice that, unless you are a cyclist or runner already on intimate terms with this term, you are cringing. Would you prefer I continue to belabor the sweat issues? Hey, we're doing physical stuff here! The body's workin' and makin' by-products. This is very practical, and sometimes necessary information.

For those of you I didn't lose in the previous paragraph, snot rocket is an official term listed in the Urban Dictionary. However, I don't think they describe it well enough, so I will embellish their definition with instruction.

1. Press an index finger against the side of one nostril to close it off.
2. Turn your head as far as possible to the side of the open nostril. 
3. Blow air out the open nostril with everything you have, sending a snot projectile out of the nose.

If you do this well, it will go onto the ground and not into your shoulder. I'm still working on perfecting this maneuver. Fortunately, all of my biking clothes are washable. Please be grateful that I am posting no photos or images to accompany this tutorial, but feel free to Google them yourself.

Despite the missile-like speed implied with the launching of a snot rocket, everything about this project and biking to work is antithetical to our cultural need for speed. From the crib we are rushed. Hurry! is the watchword. Do it faster, more efficiently. Be quick. I'm late! Gotta run. Even in self-propelled sports we're looking for our PRs (personal records) and seeking to shave seconds from the time it takes us to get from Point A to B. It is habitual. When I drive, I am constantly frustrated by slower motorists who block my way from a speedier trip. This hurriedness is a habit, if not an addiction. For the most part, we're numb to it—until we slow down.

It takes me three times as long to get to work on the bike as in a car. In the past when I have biked, it was decidedly slower than a car; but I'm not sure it slowed me down since I would go hell for leather to make the best time possible. Then as now I loved the feel of crisp fresh air and the beauty around me. Now as then, I push myself to exertion when I pedal. But knowing I'll be sharing the experience with you, I observe more closely. I stop to take pictures. Between the pace of the bike and the focused attention to my surroundings, I have come to treasure the luxury of slow, the seduction of leisurely, the allure of unhurried. It seeps into my pores and it brings a new life with it. I hope you're not tired of my gushing gratefulness for your part in this; but if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be stopping to take pictures or savoring the full experience as I am.

As with the morning ride in, the ride home was a carbon copy of yesterday. Seventy degrees and beautiful. The only difference was that Scott biked over and met me near the University; so I had some great companionship for the last 6 miles home. It hardly seems possible, but it made the ride even better and more beautiful.

Thank you for reading this, for your support of Dane County Humane Society, and for slowing down with me for a few moments. Contemplate. Tell yourself a bad joke. Blow a snot rocket. It's all part of the trip.

Day 3: You can take it with you—but will you?

Day 3 miles to/from work: 26.8
Total miles for S4S: 90.2

Who will buy this wonderful morning?
Such a sky you never did see
Who will tie it up with a ribbon
And put it in a box for me? - Lionel Bart from Oliver!

When temperatures are 80-90+ degrees F as they were last Thursday and Friday (Days 1 and 2 for S4S initiates), it's easy to select biking attire—the least you can legally get by with. Whatever that minimalist garb is, it is preferably fabric that wicks sweat (as opposed to 100% cotton that leaves you in a personal swampland) and has some strategic padding to protect delicate nether regions.

Over the Labor Day weekend, Madison's summer became autumn overnight. When I left this morning, it was 46 degrees—half the temperature I'd last biked in. Cycling clothes for cooler weather are dictated by a tricky equation with variables of bike-generated windchill, body-in-motion-generated heat, and sweat that starts out as over-warm and quickly cools to hypothermic. Layers were my friend as I prepared for yet another chapter of bicycle weather battle. I donned bike shorts covered with ankle-length athletic tights; close-toed bike shoes with socks (rather than last week's sandals); wicking tank top, neon orange long-sleeved zippered shirt, screaming yellow windbreaker; stretchy gloves under my bike gloves; all topped with a stocking cap over ears/under helmet. Ready!

Did I mention that it was an utterly gorgeous morning, with a "severe clear" sky or CAVU (ceiling absent, visibility unlimited—to borrow from Scott's flying vernacular)? I can only invoke more Oliver! lyrics "Who will buy this wonderful feeling? I'm so high, I swear I could fly." That kind of morning.

I must once again thank you for your support that makes my commitment to this project possible. Even as it is doing good for homeless animals (soon-to-be-forever-homed, thanks to you), domestic abuse victims, and even prison inmates, it has to be one of the most selfish things I've ever done. I can't imagine that any creature, human or furry (I realize that becomes redundant for a few folks we know), is getting more joy or benefit from this than I am. With every pedal stroke, I am grateful for your support that fuels this.

When I got to work and changed to "professional attire", I discovered that the new pair of pants I had packed fresh from the laundry had shrunk. Oh shit. We are recruiting for a position on my team, and this week we are interviewing. Although our office maintains an uber-casual dress code, for interviews our group always dresses with the same standards we expect of the interviewee. With that benchmark in mind, I was surprised no candidates showed up with snug, high-water pants displaying highly visible panty lines. Thank heavens for the long jacket.

At noon when I prepared my lunch, I discovered I had forgotten to pack a substantial part of it, along with the semi-healthy snacks that get me through the afternoon. How could this be? What with carting in beginning-of-the-week provisions, the weight of my panniers seemed a pound heavier for every degree the temperature had dropped. I could have biked or even walked to a number of nearby food emporiums; but I had enough to get by, and it's not like I don't have the inner resources and adipose tissue to live off my body for a few hours.

Maybe my lessons learned for the day are: 1) Try on work clothes the night before. 2) Make checklists of what to take. "The shortest pencil is longer than the longest memory." Oh well. It was more funny than bothersome.

It was about 70 degrees for the trip home. Back to bike shorts and tank top, stashing all the other layers in the panniers. The ride home was another collection of perfect, pristine, invigorating, life-giving moments. The effect is enhanced by more downhill swooshing than the ride in—as beautiful as the mornings are, they include far more of an uphill grind. Black flip-flop report:  still there, but looking worse for the wear.

My ride ended with the sun pushing low in the west, and a colorful hot air balloon in the east. Who needs fashionable pants and a full lunch?

Day 2: From road grit to Goldilocks

Day 2 miles to/from work: 26.8
Total for S4S: 63.4

Yesterday morning as I prepared for the day ahead, Weather Dude was cheerfully promising a clear and lovely day ahead. Nice! I heard a jet passing overhead. Then another. Then… crap! Those aren't jets. That's thunder. This was followed by what felt like the house being pummeled with body punches by wind-whipped downpour. No. No way. Not on Day 2 of this Magnificent Adventure. We just got started. (This thought was followed by lightning and more thunder.) I stipulated from the beginning that I wouldn't bike with lightning, but it's only Day 2. I can't not go. Thank goodness for the waterproof panniers. Nevertheless, I double-wrapped everything in plastic bags and put my iPhone in a baggie. My iPhone is, in theory, protected by its Otterbox case; but in theory the sun was supposed to be shining, too. I armed myself for bicycle battle.

One comforting thought prevailed: this meant a little more money for shelter animals. My friend, fellow cyclist, and Hash House Harrier Dave Erickson pledged $1 to DCHS for every day that I ride, but amps it right up to $2 if it rains. Suh-weet. Not to mention funny. When Monte Baxter asked how to pledge, and I told him about the many creative pledge options y'all have created for yourselves, he decided to match Dave. So rain = more pledge money. It was nevertheless a great relief that by the time I got out the door, the rain and its companion rabble rousers had subsided to a meek patter.

Starting the ride, I was sporting my bright yellow, waterproof, breathable, made-for-cycling rain jacket. (Why isn't this amazing fashion piece a must-have for everyone's wardrobe? See picture. 'Nuf said.) Every time I wear it, I prove that it is just breathable enough to allow water in and just waterproof enough to be an oven. It was off within two miles. The rain was not enough to make riding a miserable experience, but it was adequate cause for aggravation. Even sans rain jacket, I was sweating like a porker; and the rain commingled chummily with that. Passing cars and trucks sprayed a fine mist of road grit on me as they passed, and my bike tires contributed their share to my calves and ankles. But aggravating and grubby do not detract all that much from a joyous experience. Something about being on a bike on a workday, even if it's taking me to work, has a delicious playing-hooky feel to it. There is also the significant bonus of not having to deal with the idiots and drama of the belt line, and I am never stuck in traffic.

I love how from a bicycle seat, details of the landscape— invisible from a car—show themselves and tell their stories.

The moonflower by the sewage treatment plant was perky and beautiful and perfectly happy with the weather. Then there was the black flip-flop.

I had just crossed the railroad tracks when I saw a lone flip-flop just off the bike path. It's easy to imagine such footwear easily coming off on the railroad tracks or rough surface of the bike path. But would the wearer not notice? As I got closer, I saw that it was a black sequined flip-flop with a red "flying W", emblem of the University of Wisconsin. Ahhh… suddenly the entire scenario was clear. Female college student. Football game last night. The mating cry of the college coed was almost audible, "I'm soooooooo drunk." Case closed.

I got to work a bit gritty but without incident, happy that it was Friday before a long weekend. Woot! Unlike Day 1, I had no outside appointments or errands, so my only biking was to and from work. I think I'll keep it that way. Mid-workday bike forays are too time-consuming and all-consuming to change in and out of bike clothes and maintain some semblance of cleanliness between rides, not to mention the time of the ride itself.

Whereas the morning ride had been too threatening, too wet, and too gritty, going home was a Goldilocks ride of just right. Just sunny enough to be cheery; just cloudy enough to mute the heat; just breezy enough to be pleasant.* The ride got even better (and sorry to admit, a bit ego-driven) when I was able to pass a few cyclists who were younger, riding upscale road bikes, and not weighed down by 30 pounds of cargo. This is where it is mandatory to balance the ego scales and relate the time I was on my road bike, going 20 mph, and a guy pedaling with sandals, on a bike with tires that looked like they came off a John Deere, and pulling a baby trailer passed me. I am humbled.

Scott and I were hosting a party starting at 6:30, so I was doubly motivated to put some fire in the engine. (On the return trip, I observed that the black flip flop, having not only a story but a life of its own, had moved a few feet from its original position.)

When I got home, I took a quick shower, washed my greasy hair, and became almost civilized-looking in time to greet our guests.

This is a bit off-topic of cycling and animal rescue; but it is still relevant to this whole project and the people participating in it, if only by reading this blog. (That would be you.) The gathering we had last night—and if you weren't there, I wish you could have been—was a reminder of how blessed we are to have such genuine, fun, intelligent, and quirky people in our lives. And boy, do we know how to throw a party, or do our friends know how to make it one! Victor and Ruth, who were just married last Saturday, earned the newlywed toast. Then Sara Goldstein made the best excuse ever for leaving a party early when she announced that her water had broken, and she and Jon had to leave that minute for the hospital for the arrival of Baby Goldstein #2. Now that's a party with family values.
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*How do I charge Dave's and Monte's pledges for today with a wet a.m. ride and gorgeous p.m.? I'm thinking $1.50 each. I don't want them to have to get second mortgages to meet this pledge.

Day 1: Rough duty absorbing all that exhilaration

*Miles to/from work: 26.6
Miles to/from appt: 10
Total miles today: 36.6
Total for S4S: 36.6

My morning started a little before 6:00 with the dulcet tones of NPR from my clock radio; but I had gotten to bed too late last night to appreciate them in the least. Shut up, shut up, let me sleep. They did not. Nor did our dog Jazz. Nor did my conscience. Jazz really needed a run before I left for the day, so I finally roused myself, threw on running clothes and shoes, and Jazz and I hit the road for a 3-mile run. Gorgeous morning, and the first sweatfest of the day.

I showered (yes, a lot of biking ahead of me, but nicer to start with fresh sweat), quickly went through my get-ready-for-work routine—except that I don’t usually dress in biking gear and load two huge waterproof panniers (saddle bags to non-cyclists—note the shadow pictures: the big bulgy things you might have mistaken for my thighs or butt are the panniers) with my work clothes, purse, lunch, work papers, books, grand piano, china set, sewing machine… oh, I guess maybe not quite that much, but it comes to about 30 pounds of gear.

The “ride” starts with loading my commuter bike, Silver Beauty, into the car for a two-mile drive to the bike path. I used to bike it, but it is a dangerous stretch of road; and after a few close calls, I invoked the “safety clause”. Park the car, unload the bike and panniers, put on my helmet and bike gloves, winch the panniers onto the bike, and we’re off.

Ever since I decided to do this 2-month Sweatin' for Shelter project, I’ve had dreams about it, I’ve felt a little nervous about it, and I’ve also been really excited to do it. It’s not like I haven’t biked the route or the distance before. But to do it every day, plan ahead every night, have everything ready to go, always be organized, allow enough time every morning, and then pedaling every work day—for two whole months—it’s daunting. It is also thrilling. What adventures lie on that path, what wonders will unfold, what personal transformation will transpire? The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first spin of the pedal. And it felt great to start.

The scenery on my ride is gorgeous: wildlife sanctuaries, lakes, all that is Madison. But the best part was the companionship. I could feel you there. Yes, you. You, my friend, who posted an inspiring attagirl!-type message on the S4S Facebook wall. You, who pledged to DCHS. You, who sent me an email that read like a cheer. You who expressed your interest and support. You, who are reading this right now. It is all support, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I felt like I had an army of grace  (Mark and Marina) accompanying me on the bike this morning, and it was euphoric. I cannot thank you enough for whatever way you are “being there” and “attending” this project. YOU rock!

I thought of James Mills (one of the wonderful S4S supporters) of the Joy Trip Project, and “Joy Trip Project” is the quintessential definition of this experience. But enough of this gooshy rhapsodizing stuff. Let’s talk about sweat.

Today was assurance that the project is well named. I see people who bike to work in business suits, dresses, nice work clothes. They placidly pedal, skimming along with the smoothness of swans on a lake. Who the hell are these people? I furiously pedal (with no real speed to show for it), and I SWEAT. That seems to be my nature, but today it was assisted with temperatures that rose to 94 degrees with 99 heat index.

By the time I got to work, I was drenched. I now carry a small towel, waterless cleaning gunk, spray stuff—anything that will de-sweat me—everywhere. I immediately went to the ladies room. Out of the wet biking clothes, into something that looked somewhat professional. No, not even that. Perhaps it elevated me to the appearance of a quasi-non-homeless person. But I didn’t care. After that phenom ride, I had endorphins buzzing around that couldn’t be reproduced by the best cup of coffee. I worked like a fiend, wired for sound, cookin’ with gas, rocket-propelled. Happy.

Then I had a mid-day appointment. Back to bike clothes. Back on the bike for 5 miles. Dashed into a bathroom with towel and cleaning gunk, changed to dry clothes. Appointment. Back into bike clothes. Sweated another 5 miles back to work. Ladies room. De-sweated. “Wash, rinse, repeat” is taking on a whole new meaning. Even with extreme ablutions and hygienic efforts, I felt like I’d been marinaded in sweat. I spent the afternoon making sure that any contact I had with colleagues was via email.

You’ve probably already predicted that at the end of the workday, it was back into the bike clothes, reloaded the panniers, back onto Silver Beauty. My route goes right through the UW-Madison campus, and tonight was the Badgers' opening game. Dear Lord. For about ½ mile, MY bike path was a sea of red, with fans in varying stages of drunkenness walking 18 abreast. (Had I not been on my bike, I probably would have been one of them.)

Just because I believe in no-kill animal shelters does not mean I hold that vision for all of my fellow humans. However, I restrained my natural inclinations and did not mow anyone down.

FINALLY: Eleven hours and 36.6 miles after I left, back to the car. Then home, followed by major hydration and the best bath of my entire life. Now it’s time for an athletic recovery drink. Hmmm… red wine or white?
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*All miles via bicycle