I'm Out of Shape

I went for a bike ride a couple days ago, which is not necessarily an unusual event. That day, though, I was training for a fundraiser ride (raising money for MS research) that I’m doing in a couple weeks. By the end of the ride, I was way more worn out than I used to ever by after a bike ride. I ended up being almost completely useless for the rest of the day.

Here’s the thing. A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have flinched if someone invited me at 6:00 am to go on a 100 mile bike ride starting at 7:00 am. And I would have been able to function fairly well after that ride. I’m starting to realize that I’m not currently in good enough shape to do that kinda thing. 

It’s humbling to realize that I’m not as capable physically as I was a couple years ago (which feels really recent). But then my social media feed reminded me that it was almost exactly two years ago to the day that I went on my first post-accident bike ride. So maybe I should cut myself a little slack?

The truth is that I regularly feel stuck between thinking I should already be in better shape and more capable than I am, and recognizing that there’s probably nothing wrong with the continued recovery process taking a little longer than I want it to. 

Of course, that doesn’t help me get in shape any more quickly; and it doesn’t push the date of the ride any further into the future. 

The getting in shape is for me to do. If you’d like to help, you’re welcome to make a contribution to the fundraising effort. 

One Moment, on the Bike Path Going Home

in the west the sky is darkening
early Colorado afternoon clouds
     bringing front range rain

shoes on, bag loaded
     soon the pedals are spinning
     as I race the storm

cresting a hill and looking west
     the sky's darker than it was, and

I hear raindrops on my helmet
     I almost feel raindrops on my arms
          and on my lips

in that moment, though, my tongue tells me
     that I've been deceived by
          a swarm of gnats

Spring Bicycle Adventure

If you took a look at this blog about a year ago, you might remember that I participated in a 400 mile bike ride. It was a remarkable experience, and I'm looking forward to doing it again this year.

Now, if you weren't reading this blog a year ago (I suppose there may be some, since one of my readers mentioned that I might have more than seven readers … maybe even as many as ten), you may remember me writing a little about that experience.

I got to spend six days riding my bike, one day putting a new roof on someone's home, and the whole time meeting and interacting with great people in every single place we found ourselves.

And, perhaps more significantly, I got to be part of the work of the Fuller Center for Housing, to give people who wouldn't have it otherwise, the opportunity to have a safe, comfortable, and affordable home to live in.

What's great about the work they do is that they do is that it's tremendously financially responsible. Every dollar that comes in to the Fuller Center goes back into supporting the mission of providing housing for people.

Some of their financing comes from the generosity of people like you (see below). But you should know, also, that the homes aren't given away. Every family that moves into a Fuller Center home is expected to work … actually work … on building their home.

Further, every family that moves into a Fuller Center home pays for the home … it's not a handout. The family takes out a zero-interest loan, sets up an affordable payment schedule, and repays the cost of the home.

There are no huge corporations or fat cats making exorbitant profits from Fuller Center homes, families are able to build their credit rating, and all of the money paid on the mortgage goes into building other homes in the future.

I did last year's ride with my dad, who's riding again this year ~ and what's pretty great is that my daughter is also coming along this year.

I feel honored to be able to participate in the Spring Bicycle Adventure, and to support the work of the Fuller Center. I want to invite you, my 7 10 readers, to also support the work they're doing.

Since we all have to raise a certain amount of money for the Fuller Center, I'll provide a link to my fundraising page.  And you may support my daughter's fundraising efforts here.

Thanks for reading, and for helping people have safe and affordable places to live.

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Commuting by Bicycle

Every so often, I commute from home to my office by bicycle. I almost always really enjoy the ride, and I have an almost entirely pleasant route to take. I ride from my house through some beautiful neighborhoods for a few miles. Then, I hop onto a bike trail that takes me along a creek for seven or eight miles. The worst part of the commute (worst = most dangerous and unpleasant) is the one mile between the bike path and my office.

That first part of my route is in the city. The second part is on a dedicated bike path. The final part is in the suburb.

I'm no expert in the history of urban and suburban development, but here's what I think. Urban areas, which were designed and engineered in the days when more people would walk to where they needed to go, are easier to navigate on a bicycle. Suburban areas, though, were designed in the days when 'regular' people were beginning to be able to afford cars; and more recent suburban areas were designed in the days when having a car is the norm, when it's unusual to not have access to an automobile.

Suburban areas were designed with cars in mind ~ to ease the traffic flow for cars by creating fast-moving arteries that could handle lots of traffic. These arterials do a great job of moving automobiles very efficiently. However, they make it considerably more dangerous to navigate on a bicycle.

We've built our road system around the assumption that everyone will have a car, and that those who don't will work to get a car.

Recently, social media has provided for me some interesting food for thought. I've been learning about the new(ish) bicycle superhighway system built in the city of Copenhagen. It may be because I've lived my whole life in USAmerica, but it's somewhat inconceivable that a government would invest so heavily in infrastructure for cycling.

It turns out, though, that at one point, Copenhagen was just as clogged with automobile traffic as any other city. A few decades of investment in cycling infrastructure has led to 50% of people in the city using a bicycle all the time for transportation.

One difference between Copenhagen and most cities in our country is that they've decided to value cycling; and further, they've decided to value the health of their citizens. We don't do either.

When we assume that everyone will, by default, commute by automobile, we're assuming that most people will be overweight and unhealthy because they sit in their cars for far too great a percentage of the day.

We further exacerbate the problem of obesity and early-onset diabetes by the ubiquitous access we provide to ridiculously cheap and ridiculously unhealthy “food” (a topic for an entirely different post).

Copenhagen has chosen to invest in cycling infrastructure. The result is that more people cycle. The result of more people cycling is that fewer people are obese or overweight (which leads to reduced healthcare costs). I would suspect that Copenhagen's investment in the health of its population is also paying off in lower prevalence of mental health problems, decreased dependence on foreign oil, and a greater sense of individual and communal satisfaction and well-being.

We in USAmerica have made the default assumption that most people will be unhealthy. We make the default assumption that there will be a continuing increase in the prevalence of asthma and other respiratory ailments caused by the increase in pollution from tailpipe emissions. We make the default assumption that because more people can afford to travel by automobile (and pay for the requisite insurance, upkeep, and fuel costs of an automobile), that we're better off.

I'd like to challenge those assumptions. Of course that may well mean challenging everything we hold as sacred in our society.

Of course the solution to our problems is more complex than simply getting everyone to ride a bike. I mean, cycling isn't some sort of magical activity. Though, when I first learned to ride, it felt like it … in fact, sometimes cycling feels magical even today.

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Cycling and Church ~ The Accordion Effect

It's harder riding in the very front of a group, since the very front doesn't have the benefit of riders in front of them blocking the wind. But it's also difficult riding in the back, especially if it's a big group.

Here's what happens. When the road is straight and relatively flat, there's no problem. All of the riders fall into a rhythm, settle into a pace, and everyone cruises along just fine.

But then there's a hill, or there's a sharp turn or a tunnel or an underpass that requires more caution. The front of the group slows down (you know, to be safe … or, because the hill goes up) ~ which then causes the back of the group to slow down as well.

However, the back of the group hasn't quite arrived at the hill (or whatever) that caused the front to slow down, which means they're slowing before they really need to.

Then, when the front of the group hits the top of the hill, or gets past the obstacle, they obviously pick up speed. But the back of the group isn't there yet, and so can't accelerate quite as easily. When the back is able to speed up again, the riders in front are farther ahead, which forces the back riders to work harder just to catch up with the group.

It's like an accordion ~ when the front slows, the back bunches up; and when the front speeds up, the whole group stretches out.

I worry, sometimes, that some people in our congregations experience our life together in that way. The leaders are up front, and hopefully are moving along as steadily as possible, so as to not lose people at the back. But inevitably the congregation approaches a hill or a turn or some other obstacle.  

I worry that there's an accordion effect in our congregational life, where some folks who aren't currently in front might have to work hard to keep up, or who might get left behind.

One of the groups I ride with tends to stop and regroup after big obstacles. The other group I ride with just keeps riding, trusting that those who get left behind can find their own way.

I'd prefer church to tend toward the former model rather than the latter.

But it might be even better if congregational leadership would pause every so often to turn around and make sure no one is left behind. A congregation can't spend all its time looking backward. A congregation also probably doesn't serve itself well if it spends all its time looking forward either.

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Cycling and Church ~ Sharing Leadership

On the final day of the Fuller Center for Housing Spring BicycleAdventure, I ended up in a paceline with some pretty strong riders. We had all experienced riding with each other through the week, and so we decided on the last day to see how we would do all working together.

We started the day knowing that some of us were faster riders, and some were not quite as strong. The thing is, though, that we made this unspoken commitment that we would all work together.

The way we worked the paceline that day was for one rider to be in front for a minute or two, with the rest of us trailing behind that person enjoying the break in headwind provided by the rider in front of us. After the front rider's minute or two was done, that person would move to the left, ease up on the pedals, and drift to the back of the line.

Obviously, when the front person moves to the back, there's a new front person who spends a minute or two working harder than the rest of us ~ at which point they move to the back, and another person takes over the leadership.

That day, each of us didn't spend the same amount of time in the front of the group. The stronger riders stayed on the front for a couple minutes at a time, and those of us who weren't as strong took shorter turns in the lead.

If we'd tried to keep things equal time-wise, our group would have been slower. Taking longer turns up front and having less time to rest behind the other riders would have worn me out and slowed me down much earlier in the day, and therefore would have slowed the whole group down, especially during those times when I was up front.

We had ridden together all week, but the way we rode together earlier in the week didn't matter at all on that day. I had spent a couple hours one day earlier in the week in the slipstream of another rider, as I worked to catch up with my dad. I wasn't strong enough that day to catch my dad, and he was strong enough to help me.

He was able to help me one day, and later in the week, I didn't have to pay him back. Every day, we started fresh. Every day, we contributed to the group what we were able, and received from others what they offered.

***

What if, in the church, we didn't hold grudges or keep score? What if we didn't worry about who works more than others, and who seems to just be along for the ride? What if everyone felt free to contribute to the group what they're able and to receive from the group what's offered?

When I ride my bike, some days I feel stronger and some days I feel weaker. Some days I can spend a lot of time in front, and some days I can't be up there at all. But on the bike rides, what I did on Friday doesn't matter when Saturday comes around. We start fresh every day.

What if every day, and every week, and every month, and every year in the church was brand new? That's the promise of our baptism (as Lutherans understand it), that we start new every day. God's promise of grace and mercy and forgiveness is renewed every day.

When someone asks a Lutheran when they were saved, they're just as likely to say “Just again this morning” as they are to say “A little over 2000 years ago” … or that's what they ought to say, anyway.

There has to be a balance, where we can encourage those who are stronger, those who have the gifts, to take greater leadership in the church while at the same time we don't discourage those who aren't quite as strong from taking their turn up front.

Sometimes it seems like church leadership, those who spend the most time and energy on making sure the congregation is in good shape, see their job as providing a service for those who 'just show up'. How would church look different if we were to operate as if we're all in this together?

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Cycling and Chruch: Group Rides

This year, for the first time in a long time, I've spent quite a bit of time cycling with groups. I used to go on group rides when I was in high school, but we didn't have experienced mentors and didn't ourselves really understand the nuances of riding with a bunch of other people.

When we moved back to Colorado and I started cycling in earnest again, I mostly went out on my own. Recently, though, I got connected with group from my neighborhood who goes out twice a week, and have been riding regularly with them.

Not surprisingly, I've been setting my cycling experience alongside my church experience ~ and so, I'm planning to post a series of blog entries to share my insights with you, my seven readers.

************

Group Rides

Last Friday was one of the group ride mornings. I got up much earlier in the day than I would have otherwise to meet the group. We rode our typical route, which ends up being about 30 miles.

As it turns out, I had free time later in the morning, and I have a (100 miles) coming up in a few weeks.  Together, those prompted me to go out riding by myself after the group ride. My solo course, accidentally, ended up also being about 30 miles.

When I compared the two, what I notice is that my solo ride took ten minutes longer than our group ride. Of course a person could argue that I was tired after the first ride, and so because of that was slower for the second ~ and there may be some truth to that.

But the further truth is that part of the course we ride as a group is the same as my bicycle commute to work; and I go much faster in the group than I do by myself along that route.

What happens is that when you ride in a group, everyone works together so that everyone has an easier time. Here's how that happens:

A group of more experienced cyclists, especially those who are trying to go as fast as possible, will often ride together in a paceline. What that means is that the riders get right up close behind each other to take advantage of the slipstream (relative lack of wind resistance) provided by the rider in front of them. The rider in front works just about as hard as they would be if they were on their own; the riders who aren't in front, though, have a much easier time of it.

The riders in front don't stay in front the whole time. When their time is done, or when they've been up in front for long enough, they move aside, slow down, and make their way back in the group while someone else takes the front position. In this way, the group shares the load, and no one person has to do all the hard work.

Further, every group has a different ethos. The group I ride with during the week rides fast, but doesn't leave anyone behind. Newcomers are welcomed into that group, and are taught the basics of group riding. Still, there are some riders who like to race. They push the pace sometimes, leaving some of the weaker riders momentarily behind, until the next re-group location.

In another group I ride with, though, folks are expected to know how to behave in a paceline. You're expected to be able to keep up with the group when they start to accelerate. And if you're not able to keep up, you're left behind and have to group up with others who are left back, or find your way home by yourself.

And when I rode with the Fuller Center for Housing Spring Adventure in March, each person was expected to make their way from point to point on their own. We were, however, encouraged (as we were comfortable) to form paceline groups when we wanted to, in order to share the workload. On a longer, non-competitive ride like that, you get the chance to spend different days riding with, and getting to know, the different people in the group.

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I'm going to spend a few blog posts thinking about the different aspects, and subtleties, of group riding and how those line up with church life. So here's how I see the basics lining up.

When we compare the life of faith in community with an individual life of faith, it's easier to work through these faith struggles in community than by yourself. Of course, some might say that being part of a church community is too much trouble, and that they have an easier time on their own.
 

Sure, it may be easier on your own ~ it's certainly easier for me to sit on the couch than to get on my bike. But I don't get any stronger sitting on the couch, and our faith doesn't deepen unless we allow ourselves the opportunity to struggle … and that struggle is easier in community.

Plus, in a congregational community, a few people don't have to do all the hard work all the time. In healthy communities, everyone has an opportunity to take the lead for a while, and everyone has the opportunity to step back for a little while to let others lead.

And finally, anyone who's been part of more than one congregation knows that each group has a different ethos. Some are welcoming, and some are more closed-off; some encourage involvement right away, and some allow greater anonymity; some have strong leadership from a few individuals, and some have a more communal leadership style.

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Over the next few posts I'll be digging more deeply into different aspects of how group cycling works, because almost every time I'm out on a ride I think to myself, “Church could be better if we could learn better how to _____.”

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Bicycle Adventure

As my seven readers may know (from previous posts about cycling), I like cycling. As my seven readers may also know (from previous posts about things like paying taxes and healthcare), I feel like it's the responsibility of those who have plenty to provide respectful and humane assistance to those who don't have as much.

These two sides of me are meeting one another this spring when I embark on the Fuller Center for Housing Spring Bicycle Adventure.

Here's the deal. The Fuller Center for Housing is an amazing organization who repairs existing homes and builds new houses for folks who can't afford new construction and/or repairs at the market rate. For those who are familiar with Habitat for Humanity, the Fuller Center is very similar (and was started by the founder of Habitat), Millard Fuller.

As part of their fund-raising and sharing-the-word activities for the past five years has been the summer Bicycle Adventure. Last year my dad rode the summer bicycle adventure, which went from Seattle to Washington D.C. I would have loved to be part of that adventure, but my work schedule didn't allow it. I'd also love to be part of this summer's Bicycle Adventure, but my schedule (again) doesn't allow it. And so I was almost ecstatic when I learned that there would be a Spring Break Bicycle Adventure. Only one week, only 400 miles – “I can do that” I told myself. And so I signed up.

I'm looking forward to experiencing the spring beauty of Tennessee and Alabama and Mississippi on the Natchez Trace Parkway. I'm looking forward to learning more about, and telling people about, the Fuller Center. And I'm looking forward to raising money to support the work they do. If you're interested in contributing to my fund-raising goal, you can do so by clicking here.

Now, if only the snow would clear off of Denver's streets so I could get out and train.

Stop Light

It was after I got a bike ~ a real bike, that would travel quickly down the road a long distance, not just a kid-riding-around-bike ~ that I saw something notable as I was riding as a passenger in a car. 

The first bike I had was a single speed, bmx-style, coaster brake equipped bike that I loved riding around the gravel and dirt where I grew up.  But eventually I began to covet other bikes ~ 10-speed bikes, with more than one gear, and brakes on the handlebars.  One year I got one, which was very exciting.  Before long, I was watching Connie Carpenter and the 7-Eleven cycling team on tv.  And I wanted to start cycling.

I upgraded from the department store special to a real road bike ~ lighter and sleeker, with a phenomenally understated paint job.  I got cycling gloves and cycling shorts, a cycling jersey and a campagnolo cycling hat; and I started spending time on the two-lane country road at the end of our quarter-mile gravel driveway.

Of course, once I started riding, I started noticing other cyclists on the roads.  One day, as I was observing cyclists, I saw in front of us in the left-turn lane, a notable guy on a bike.  The light was red, traffic was stopped, and so was he.  But his feet were still on the pedals ~ and knowing what I had recently learned about toe clips, I could see upon closer inspection that he hadn't even bothered to loosen the straps.  His feet were tightly affixed to the pedals as he stood still, balancing behind one car and ahead of the one I rode in.

When the light moved to green, off he went, leaving us behind, stuck in traffic. 

That was 25 years ago; but I hope that guy is still riding through Austin traffic, trackstanding his way into some other teenager's imagination.

Cycling Shoes

I have a pair of cycling shoes in my garage. They're made of thin leather attached to a stiff sole. Screwed onto the sole, there's a cleat that makes walking difficult by raising my toe above the level of my heel. But the cleat made it much easier to ride a bicycle. See, there's a slot in cleat that fit perfectly into part of a quill pedal before the whole foot is cinched onto the pedal with a leather strap.

These were my first pair of cycling shoes, which I acquired not too long before clipless pedals became quite so ubiquitous. I remember specifically (though my memory may be faulty) that my parents questioned the wisdom of me buying these shoes. They were kind of expensive for something so specialized, or for something that I'd only be able to use for one very specific activity. They asked whether I intended to continue cycling, or whether it would be something I moved on from before long.

It was a valid question, which I dangerously answered 'yes' ... how could I really know what I'd be doing in the future?

The last time I wore those shoes was for the first triathlon I ever did. It was a winter race, and the stages were started individually, which meant that there was plenty of time to change clothes between swim and bike, and between bike and run. I cinched my shoes onto my pedals at the start of the bike leg while everyone else simply clipped in.

But that day was the renewal of my love of cycling. I'd spent a couple years away from riding much at all, but that day I felt again the thrill of working hard to go fast. That day I also understood the need (need?) to purchase new cycling shoes that fit new clipless pedals.

Were those leather shoes a good purchase? I'm happy to say that my dangerous 'yes' was accurate. I now have others that work much better; but I still keep those original shoes hanging in my garage ... just for me.

I miss cycling

Today I'm five weeks past ankle surgery; I go to see the orthopedist in a couple days so that he can evaluate my recovery so far and direct my continued recovery over the next weeks. What I'm really hoping for is that I can stop wearing the (hot, cumbersome, smelly) boot that I've been wearing which has stabilized my ankle through the initial weeks of recovery.

I'm looking forward to getting the boot off, even though the thought causes some anxiety about how secure I'll really feel. I'm looking forward to the rehabilitation work I'll be doing to strengthen the inner workings of that ankle, so that hopefully it'll be stable in the end.

But more than anything, I'm looking forward to being able to exercise again. I haven't been able to do any cardio workouts for the past month, and I've been too lazy (or maybe discouraged) to do much strength training. And of the possible cardio workouts, I've missed cycling the most. I miss morning training rides; I miss riding my fixie through downtown; I miss commuting to work; I miss riding to the grocery store, and riding home with a backpack full of healthful food that will fuel more riding; I miss riding around the neighborhood with my kids; I miss riding with my kids to where they need to go; I miss the little bit of singletrack riding I take time to do.

Hopefully the doctor will tell me on Wednesday that I can start getting back into shape, and that my ankle is strong enough to handle some time clipped in and spinning down the road.

evening commute

in the cool evening,
cooler air rising from
the creek i ride next to,
my vision is tunneled down
to the width of a headlamp

this time of night (when
streetlights illumine my way
and darkness encroaches into
the gaps, under trees and bridges)
the bike path is empty. the
hundreds i may pass on a weekend
are warm and dry, while I make
my way (white lights in front,
red flashers behind) back home
trusting the path beyond
my headlamp is clear of
significant obstacle

but the path turns out
to be blocked, partially ~
i speed by a snake, startled
into stillness by my approach;
flying down the hill, i swerve
to avoid a cat that escaped from home;
and just around the turn there's a
possum, crossing onto the golf course
each obstacle surprising me as the
periphery of my vision catches an
edge-of-the-headlamp glimpse

turns out, though, that
the snake is wooden,
immobilized by its former connection
to a tree trunk;
the cat, patches in the trail
viewed from one particular
25 mph angle;
possums scurrying into the bushes
nothing but the bushes themselves
lit on one side by my lamp,
creating shadows dancing
across the curve in the trail

HardCore Cycling

Probably at least a couple of my seven readers know that I enjoy cycling. I enjoy road biking, mountain biking, and commuting on my fixie. I love riding around the neighborhood with my children, and I enjoy working on (and teaching my children to work on) bicycles.

Last week, when I got home from being gone for a full week to two conferences, I realized that (considering it was January in Colorado) the weather couldn't be any better for going for a bike ride. It was shorts/two shirts/full-finger-gloves weather. I rode my standard one-hour, quick workout route.

In January, most folks seem to have put their bikes away until March or April, when it's warmed up just a bit. Last Thursday, I only passed a handful of other cyclists, when I would have passed at least three dozen on a slow day in summer.

This ride made me start thinking about who's out riding a bike in nasty weather. Most cyclists are game for fair weather riding, and some - the 'hardcore' cyclists - will go out adverse weather. It could be early spring mornings when the frost is still covering the ground, or maybe through the autumn rain and mud. The hardcore go out into the desert through sand and searing heat, or even through snow falling over the singletrack that no one else has been on for a month.

I used to think these were the hardcore cyclists, until I paid closer attention over the past week. The real hardcore cyclists are those who ride through the snow, over the icy streets, and are not kept inside by temperatures that range from the negative teens to the positive single digits. Mostly, these hardcore cyclists ride helmet-less and without spandex. They're on bikes that come from garage sales and big-box discount stores. Often, the bikes have squeaking brakes, flat tires, and many don't shift out of the one rusty gear where the chain finds itself. By and large, it turns out that the real hardcore cyclists, the ones who ride every day no matter what, tend to be temp workers, immigrant laborers, and transients ~ the people who don't have any other choice.

I don't know about you, but that gives me a new outlook on my fair-weather cycling habits.

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