Monday, June 9, 2008

Briefcase Full of Guts

I injured my ankle about six weeks ago and it still hurts. I played basketball in my running shoes and they offer zero lateral support. I think it's a small muscle injury because if I run it stops hurting about a mile in. I've tried resting it for the last two weeks and it seems to have helped a little bit, but whenever I point my toe flex my foot down like a man I still feel pain. The two weeks of inactivity made me anxious - ya boy needs to sweat - so I decided I would tough it out and go for a run. But then I remembered I had a bike and I could get my sweat on and still rest my aching Achilles area and wear a retard helmet to boot - BONUS. I haven't ridden my bike in at least 18 months so I had to inflate the tires but the rest of the bike was tip top. More importantly, I had no idea how to pace myself, and if you've read this blog for any length of time you know that this is probably leading to a heat stroke or a myocardial infarction (infarction sounds like it should be a curse word: Did you see that guy cut me off? Get off the phone infarction!) Anyway, I had my trusty Garmon 305 w/heart monitor so I knew to slow down when my heart rate got above 180 so there were no V-Fibs or V-Tachs. I rode about 11 miles in 54 minutes, but there was a 4 or 5 minute span in the middle where I was stopped by a draw bridge. I picked a route that took me through Riverside, Avondale, and Ortega - pronounced ORTEEGA, this is southern Georgia not southern Spain - it was a beautiful trip past many mansions on the river. Unfortunately, it wasn't as bike friendly as I thought it would be - no sidewalks, no bike trails - so I had to push the pace a little bit to stay out of the way of cars during the middle 7 miles of the ride. Going out wasn't bad; coming back was rough. On the way out I tried to stay ahead of the cars. There were periods where I would get up to 25 miles an hour. On the ride back I said screw it I'll get closer to the grass. The ride was much different from a run. The whole thing was a series of pulses followed by rests, as opposed to the consistent rhythm of a run. The ride hurt my heart a lot more than it hurt my legs. Even though my heart rate topped out at 178 it still took me a good 3 minutes to get it below 120 when I got home, but my Achilles didn't hurt and I burned almost 900 calories. I had a blast. Bike riding is definitely getting added to the workout mix.

I had trouble with the title of this post. Stupid songs like Queen's "Bicycle" and Led Zeppelin's "Achilles Last Stand" came to mind, but then I remembered I was heterosexual so I picked a Dethklok song instead, even though it doesn't have anything to do with the post.

6 comments:

MJ said...

I love the local color of this post--pronunciations and whatnot. And, so positive!

I'm so glad I gave you that heart monitor.

Are we sure that we should attach LMJ's bike seat to your bike? Sounds a little fast and dangerous. Think of the extra calories you'll burn with an extra 23 pounds in tow.

Finall, good rationale for a title.

Cora Spondence said...

When you write, I love that I'm right there with you in your head, like a Borg ocular implant seeing everything. I even started to sweat a little.
You just may have inspired me to blog about my renewed relationship with biking.

JSG said...

One more time you remind me I live in South Georgia and I'll have to poke my eyes out. It's like the first grader, Hannah, who told me I was mispronouncing her name. It's Heeahnuh. UGH!


One thing I noted - you were clocking your MPH - do you have a spedometer, praytell?

LJ said...

I don't have a speedometer, but my watch does tell me my mile pace so I did some math.

EJG said...

Hey LJ,

Loved this post... but, when I see the name "Ortega", I imagine it being said with a Antonio Banderas accent; hushed, as if it's a secret password to some underground bodega.

DiaBelo said...

You've refreshed my memory bank of good times biking from Avondale to Five Points - that was a nothing ride; to Bishop Kenny - that was a big deal, or the other way to Moose Haven; my parents didn't know, which was the point.

Your faux gay-phobia is touchingly sweet.