I went out for a roll the other day. The weather was nice and I didn't have anything else to do. In light of the Shane Warne controversy I decided to stay off the roads, instead heading north on the Craigieburn bike path, with the intention of turning around after an hour or so.
And this was all hunky dory, and I wasn't feeling too bad, until I nearly ran over a two metre long brown snake, which I have just discovered is the second most venomous land snake in the whole damn world.
After that, I decided to stick to the road for a while.
Rest in peace, Etta. Sorry you occasionally had to play with incredibly dorky jazz nerds.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Teardrops Start.
A flurry of activity here at The New Timer. First of all, the blog now has it's own twitter and facebook pages. Hopefully this will mean more consistent posting, this could just be the school holiday rush still speaking. It will definitely mean that I'll let you know via twitter and facebook whenever a new post does eke its way into existence.
I also have some writing gigs lined up for Cycling Tips Blog, so keep your eyes on them for my witty repartee, as well as their excellent line in headline news, race results and commentary.
I'm also in the process of organizing some interviews with local riders. As I stated below, I'm a big fan of doing these interviews, and hope to do a lot more as the year goes by.
So yeah, there are certainly things afoot. I wouldn't call them big, but they are definitely things.
I also have some writing gigs lined up for Cycling Tips Blog, so keep your eyes on them for my witty repartee, as well as their excellent line in headline news, race results and commentary.
I'm also in the process of organizing some interviews with local riders. As I stated below, I'm a big fan of doing these interviews, and hope to do a lot more as the year goes by.
So yeah, there are certainly things afoot. I wouldn't call them big, but they are definitely things.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Imagine Fighting That 500 Years.
Yo, in light of the Shane Warne vs Cyclist controversy, here's a heads up: when you're part of the majority (white / male / heterosexual / human / car driver / meat eater / you get the picture), it's your job to make sure the minority are doing ok. That's the price you pay for getting everything else in your favour. Trust me, you're still getting a good deal.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
There Was So Much Space That I Cut Me A Piece.
Post-500th post funk over and done with, we now return to our regular programming.
I took some noobs - who also happen to be good friends - around the track today. It was pretty rad. A few of them hadn't even ridden fixed before, so there was a fair bit of practicing stopping and starting. We rolled up and down the infield a bit, played some games, then headed out on to the track. By the end of the day all of them had reached the top of the banks, and most of them were able to roll turns with the bunch. We even had a mock race, which I didn't win. I was pretty stoked for them all.
Afterwards we went for coffee. It's been a while for me, and I'd kinda forgotten what it's like to sit at a cafe, sweaty and worn from exertion, and talk shit about the race or training session immediately before. It's pretty nice. That's what it's like.
I took some noobs - who also happen to be good friends - around the track today. It was pretty rad. A few of them hadn't even ridden fixed before, so there was a fair bit of practicing stopping and starting. We rolled up and down the infield a bit, played some games, then headed out on to the track. By the end of the day all of them had reached the top of the banks, and most of them were able to roll turns with the bunch. We even had a mock race, which I didn't win. I was pretty stoked for them all.
Afterwards we went for coffee. It's been a while for me, and I'd kinda forgotten what it's like to sit at a cafe, sweaty and worn from exertion, and talk shit about the race or training session immediately before. It's pretty nice. That's what it's like.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The Whole World.
500th post / 5th year. This blog started off being a collection of stories about me going to punk rock shows, and would cause controversy every time I said anything bad about a band. Then, somewhere in the middle of 2008, I started riding bikes competitively, and wanted to write more about the experience. Instead of starting a new blog I just changed the byline on this one and continued on my merry way. A few years later, perhaps in acknowledgement of my increasing years, I changed the title and the URL, swapping the name of a Submission Hold song for the name of a Springsteen song. Right now I'm considering quitting competitive cycling, and am wondering in which direction this blog will then take. I think I'd like to keep writing about cycling, but I'm not really sure how. I have a feeling that I'll start out trying to write race reports, but that they too will end up being more like stories of me going to bike races. And that'll be a nice conclusion, a coming full circle. I'd also like to do more interviews, like this one, because I kinda enjoy them, and like hearing what my friends think about this stupid life that means so much to us and so little to everyone else. Other than that, well, I'm open to suggestion.
Anyways, happy 500th to me.
Anyways, happy 500th to me.
All Our Answers Sound The Same.
When he was around the same age as I am now, my old man got sick, and no one could figure out what was wrong. He went and saw a handful of different doctors, and then a handful of different specialists. He was subjected to a handful of different tests, including a bone marrow test, the description of which still lingers horrifyingly in my brain. He was getting sick all the time, and was tired all the time. Eventually one of those specialists lucked upon the correct test and he was diagnosed with chronic idiopathic neutropenia. Since that diagnosis - and I'm assuming the subsequent treatment - it has had no bearing on his life whatsoever.
Before you ask, I've already been tested for it. I don't have it.
When I think about being sick now, it's always in the context of cycling, and the question is always a relatively simple one: Will I be able to keep doing it? The lack of a definitive answer is the only difficult thing. When my dad got sick the context was broader, the questions more difficult. At that time he had a wife and four children under ten, all four of whom could be described as a handful. In the time before his diagnosis I'm sure he knew the illness wasn't killing him, but it was leaving him incapacitated, incapable to work. How could he care for his family if he wasn't able to do his job? How could he continue to support those dependent on him? What the hell was he going to do now?
Eventually, of course, he didn't have to answer any of these questions. He was able to go on doing his job and raising his family. I'm not bringing it up here to garner sympathy for the bloke, but rather to provide some context for me. Because sometimes I need a handful of context.
Before you ask, I've already been tested for it. I don't have it.
When I think about being sick now, it's always in the context of cycling, and the question is always a relatively simple one: Will I be able to keep doing it? The lack of a definitive answer is the only difficult thing. When my dad got sick the context was broader, the questions more difficult. At that time he had a wife and four children under ten, all four of whom could be described as a handful. In the time before his diagnosis I'm sure he knew the illness wasn't killing him, but it was leaving him incapacitated, incapable to work. How could he care for his family if he wasn't able to do his job? How could he continue to support those dependent on him? What the hell was he going to do now?
Eventually, of course, he didn't have to answer any of these questions. He was able to go on doing his job and raising his family. I'm not bringing it up here to garner sympathy for the bloke, but rather to provide some context for me. Because sometimes I need a handful of context.
Monday, January 9, 2012
The Promised Land.
Saturday afternoon racing at Brunswick Velodrome. AKA the sweet life.
Brunswick Velodrome from Amsterdamize on Vimeo.
Friday, January 6, 2012
I'll Be Out On That Hill With Everything I Got.
Sean "The Man" Hurley / Flyin' Ryan Schilt / Yours Truly
Oh, and I forgot this story until this morning: Over the Carnivals the Juniors were usually on in the afternoon, the Seniors in the evening. We'd arrive a little early, so there'd be some overlap, which gave us the opportunity to find out how the Brunswick kids were doing. My Fitzroy Revolution teammate Flyin' Ryan Schilt in particular seemed to be killing it, the benefits of four rounds of the National Junior Track Series plain for everyone to see.
I ran into him again in Shepparton, looking all tired and worn, and asked him how he went. "Not too bad," he replied, "Won a couple of races. How about you?"
I shrugged my shoulders and mumbled something about not going so great and the racing being pretty tough.
"Maybe," the thirteen-year-old started, "You need to listen to some Bruce Springsteen."
So I did.
It seemed to help.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Behind A Locked Door.
I figure I'm not great at writing race reports, and as we move through each day after sweltering day, I'm less and less inclined to write up what happened in each individual day of the Victorian Christmas Carnivals. So instead I'm going to outline what each day generally entails. There were, of course, variations, but none of them were particularly outstanding - usually just a battle to find coffee, or different issues with bike parts. I'll provide the outlines and you can use your imagination to fill in the details.
* Wake up, shower and have breakfast. It is hot, and everyone feels kinda gross, so that morning shower is vital. We've brought along our own cereal, and I smash a delicious protein shake made of protein powder and water. Yes, that was sarcasm.
* Two hours on the road. Generally this was just Hurley and I, but on different days we had different company. On day one I had some sprints on the program, which we both did, but for the other days Hurley did his sprints then waited for me to catch up.
* Find some food. Some days this was easy, like when Casey made us all salad rolls, but some days it was kinda difficult, like in Shepparton. At this point I'd like to make the claim that Shepparton is the worst town in Victoria. This realization hit Hurley the hardest, as he has to live there next year.
* Drive to the next town. The initial plan was for Hurley to drive, in order to rack up some L plate hours, but his driving had an odd effect on Casey, who suffered car sickness for the first time in years. Hurley claimed it was not the first time he had made a woman sick, but it was possibly the first time he had done it by driving.
* Find a place to stay. We stayed with my parents, with Hurley, and at this vegan bed and breakfast just outside of Shep. It was pretty easy, for the most part, and certainly better than driving around looking for a hotel.
* Find some dinner. I ate a lot of salads from the Coles deli, a lot of chips and dip, and a lot of mixed nuts. What I assumed were the local Iraqi community were catering at Shep, which would have been rad, but I was a bit skint by that point, so I missed out.
* Find the track. Again, mostly this was pretty simple, but I'd never been to the Wangaratta track, so it took some finding. With this was finding a place to sit. For the most part Jess Morgan had arrived before us, and had claimed an awesome spot (including the annual Brunswick location in Shep, on top of the hill), but by the end of the carnivals seating had become a political proposition - a feud was developing between the Bendigo riders and the riders from Croydon Cycleworks, and in order to appear non-partisan we Fitzroy Revolution riders were careful to sit in neutral spots.
* Fix broken parts. This was the first year I've had mechanical issues, and they came in droves. On Christmas Eve, before we even left, I broke a spoke on my rear road bike wheel, and had to borrow Hurely's. In Horsham I loaned my spare wheels to Gene, who had forgotten his, and by Bendigo he had broken a locknut on the rear one. After Horsham I put my track bike on the roof of Dave Morgan's car, and by the time we arrived in Bendigo the heat and the vibrations of the road had melted a whole in the tyre. I switched to Hurley's spare and promptly blew up one of his latex tubes. In Shepparton I discovered that the rear hub on my race wheels had almost seized up - Hurley and Neil attacked it with their cone wrenches and some chain lube, got it back on, and I promptly won a race. In Shep I also punctured the rear on my road bike, destroying another of Hurley's latex tubes. Have I mentioned recently that Shepparton is the worst town in Victoria? In Wangaratta I didn't break any bike parts, but my iPod did stop working on the way there, which was perhaps a greater loss.
* Get changed, get water, get warmed up. Sometimes we'd have a little time on the track, but mostly this was done on the rollers, which was never much fun. I took the road bike and it pretty much took me until Bendigo to realize that I'd be better off warming up in the big ring, to get the blood flowing to the legs, instead of just spinning for thirty minutes.
* Watch Hurley win some races. Apparently the usual handicapper was on holidays in the States, which meant there were some interesting decisions. As well as Sam Crome ending up in B grade, Hurley somehow ended up in D grade. He wasn't proud, and promptly went about getting bumped up to C. His finest effort was perhaps in Bendigo, where he hit the bunch with six laps to go - on a 4oo metre track - and stayed away. By Wangaratta they had moved him up, which didn't stop him winning. He must've come home with at least five hundred bucks. I made him pay for petrol.
* Suffer. After last year, when I had some really fun times in B grade, I was definitely going to be in A grade. I knew this was going to be hard work, especially given my lack of fitness, and compounded by the hard training week immediately previous (Tapering? Never heard of it). Despite lining up against a number of former and current Olympians, I managed to finish almost every race, and by Wangaratta was starting to feel ok, even managing to win my handicap heat and make it into the Keirin final. Still, it wasn't the most fun I've ever had, and not collecting money at the end of the night took some getting used to.
* Recover. Drink more delicious protein drink - there's that sarcasm again - and put on some wanker pants (aka compression garments). Pack up all the shit we'd managed to spread around and drive back to wherever we're staying. Wash some bottles, possibly do some laundry, probably shower, then try to sleep.
* Repeat.
* Wake up, shower and have breakfast. It is hot, and everyone feels kinda gross, so that morning shower is vital. We've brought along our own cereal, and I smash a delicious protein shake made of protein powder and water. Yes, that was sarcasm.
* Two hours on the road. Generally this was just Hurley and I, but on different days we had different company. On day one I had some sprints on the program, which we both did, but for the other days Hurley did his sprints then waited for me to catch up.
* Find some food. Some days this was easy, like when Casey made us all salad rolls, but some days it was kinda difficult, like in Shepparton. At this point I'd like to make the claim that Shepparton is the worst town in Victoria. This realization hit Hurley the hardest, as he has to live there next year.
* Drive to the next town. The initial plan was for Hurley to drive, in order to rack up some L plate hours, but his driving had an odd effect on Casey, who suffered car sickness for the first time in years. Hurley claimed it was not the first time he had made a woman sick, but it was possibly the first time he had done it by driving.
* Find a place to stay. We stayed with my parents, with Hurley, and at this vegan bed and breakfast just outside of Shep. It was pretty easy, for the most part, and certainly better than driving around looking for a hotel.
* Find some dinner. I ate a lot of salads from the Coles deli, a lot of chips and dip, and a lot of mixed nuts. What I assumed were the local Iraqi community were catering at Shep, which would have been rad, but I was a bit skint by that point, so I missed out.
* Find the track. Again, mostly this was pretty simple, but I'd never been to the Wangaratta track, so it took some finding. With this was finding a place to sit. For the most part Jess Morgan had arrived before us, and had claimed an awesome spot (including the annual Brunswick location in Shep, on top of the hill), but by the end of the carnivals seating had become a political proposition - a feud was developing between the Bendigo riders and the riders from Croydon Cycleworks, and in order to appear non-partisan we Fitzroy Revolution riders were careful to sit in neutral spots.
* Fix broken parts. This was the first year I've had mechanical issues, and they came in droves. On Christmas Eve, before we even left, I broke a spoke on my rear road bike wheel, and had to borrow Hurely's. In Horsham I loaned my spare wheels to Gene, who had forgotten his, and by Bendigo he had broken a locknut on the rear one. After Horsham I put my track bike on the roof of Dave Morgan's car, and by the time we arrived in Bendigo the heat and the vibrations of the road had melted a whole in the tyre. I switched to Hurley's spare and promptly blew up one of his latex tubes. In Shepparton I discovered that the rear hub on my race wheels had almost seized up - Hurley and Neil attacked it with their cone wrenches and some chain lube, got it back on, and I promptly won a race. In Shep I also punctured the rear on my road bike, destroying another of Hurley's latex tubes. Have I mentioned recently that Shepparton is the worst town in Victoria? In Wangaratta I didn't break any bike parts, but my iPod did stop working on the way there, which was perhaps a greater loss.
* Get changed, get water, get warmed up. Sometimes we'd have a little time on the track, but mostly this was done on the rollers, which was never much fun. I took the road bike and it pretty much took me until Bendigo to realize that I'd be better off warming up in the big ring, to get the blood flowing to the legs, instead of just spinning for thirty minutes.
* Watch Hurley win some races. Apparently the usual handicapper was on holidays in the States, which meant there were some interesting decisions. As well as Sam Crome ending up in B grade, Hurley somehow ended up in D grade. He wasn't proud, and promptly went about getting bumped up to C. His finest effort was perhaps in Bendigo, where he hit the bunch with six laps to go - on a 4oo metre track - and stayed away. By Wangaratta they had moved him up, which didn't stop him winning. He must've come home with at least five hundred bucks. I made him pay for petrol.
* Suffer. After last year, when I had some really fun times in B grade, I was definitely going to be in A grade. I knew this was going to be hard work, especially given my lack of fitness, and compounded by the hard training week immediately previous (Tapering? Never heard of it). Despite lining up against a number of former and current Olympians, I managed to finish almost every race, and by Wangaratta was starting to feel ok, even managing to win my handicap heat and make it into the Keirin final. Still, it wasn't the most fun I've ever had, and not collecting money at the end of the night took some getting used to.
* Recover. Drink more delicious protein drink - there's that sarcasm again - and put on some wanker pants (aka compression garments). Pack up all the shit we'd managed to spread around and drive back to wherever we're staying. Wash some bottles, possibly do some laundry, probably shower, then try to sleep.
* Repeat.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Soon Enough, Work And Love Will Make A Man Out Of You.
Two hours ago I finished the last road hours of the only hard week I've been able to complete in months. I'd forgotten how hard it was, to be lying on the couch, totally slammed by your efforts the day before (or even that morning), and having to convince yourself to get up, put on the lycra, pump up your tyres, get back on the bike and start hurting yourself even more. The efforts on the program aren't impossible, of course, but from that comfortable position they sure as how feel like it. Added to the physical suffering is the all encompassing grumpy moodiness that accompanies a hard week on the bike - a side effect of any stressful situation, even the ones you choose to inflict on yourself - which only adds to the unwillingness to get the hell off the couch.
But still, this week I did every effort on the list. I got up off the freaking super-comfortable couch, which is the best place to lay in the entire universe, and did them. Training is like money in the bank, and it's the first time in months I've been able to make a decent deposit.
But still, this week I did every effort on the list. I got up off the freaking super-comfortable couch, which is the best place to lay in the entire universe, and did them. Training is like money in the bank, and it's the first time in months I've been able to make a decent deposit.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Story Of My Life.
There's a party going on a couple of streets over, and the dull bass thud coupled with the heat is keeping me from sleeping. Interestingly enough, I'm not appalled by the taste in music - they seem to be giving the Wu-Tang a good thumping, with some Cypress Hill mixed in, and I'm ok with that. I wonder, though, if there are a bunch of kids lurking in the corner of that party, with strange haircuts, annoyed expressions and Millencolin tapes in their pockets. Because if that DJ steps away from the stereo for more than five minutes, that tape is going straight into the deck and some kids are going to skank their asses off - until, of course, the DJ comes back, says "What the fuck is this shit?", hits the eject button and flips it back to Beyonce.
I mean, does this still happen? This still happens, right? I'd go look, but I'm not wearing any pants.
I mean, does this still happen? This still happens, right? I'd go look, but I'm not wearing any pants.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
The Lighting's Bad.
As I mentioned here, I went up and raced in Bendigo a couple of weeks back. I was mostly heading up there for the club Madison, but was pretty psyched to be racing up there in general. First up was a twelve lap scratch race. The pace was, as per usual, pretty hot from the outset. A couple of laps in the pace went up another notch and someone in front of me dropped the wheel. I put the power down and spun my way back up to the bunch. It felt pretty good. We rolled around some more.
When the bell went I was at the front, which isn't the best place to be when a lap is more than 400 metres long. I wasn't too keen just to lead out Sean Finning, who was somewhere behind me, or Jarrod Maroni, who was probably immediately behind him. So I hit it. The wind was up and I figured they'd look at each other a bit, daring each other to do spend their bikkies chasing me down.
It seems that this was exactly how it panned out. I gapped the field, and held the gap until the final straight. Once they got to me I hit it again, and held off until the final breath, when Finning took the win by a wheel.
I wasn't disappointed. I threw all I had into the race and was only beaten by a Commonwealth Games Gold Medalist. It'd been a long time since I'd shown that kind of form, and I was relieved that finally it was beginning to come back.
For training today my coach had scheduled a Madison Skills session with Leigh Howard and Scott McGrory. After the session was done I got chatting to Scott. Apparently he had been in Bendigo that night, and had seen me taking it up to Finning. "It was a good ride," he said, "You made the right move."
I don't know if you've noticed - I may have mentioned it once or twice - but this year I've been pretty sick. After a while being sick starts to get into your head. You start to wonder if you're ever going to reach that same level of performance that you once had. Your confidence starts to be shaken, and you start to doubt. But right now, with some wins under my belt and a compliment from an Olympic Gold Medalist in my head, I feel like I'm ready to take on the world.
When the bell went I was at the front, which isn't the best place to be when a lap is more than 400 metres long. I wasn't too keen just to lead out Sean Finning, who was somewhere behind me, or Jarrod Maroni, who was probably immediately behind him. So I hit it. The wind was up and I figured they'd look at each other a bit, daring each other to do spend their bikkies chasing me down.
It seems that this was exactly how it panned out. I gapped the field, and held the gap until the final straight. Once they got to me I hit it again, and held off until the final breath, when Finning took the win by a wheel.
I wasn't disappointed. I threw all I had into the race and was only beaten by a Commonwealth Games Gold Medalist. It'd been a long time since I'd shown that kind of form, and I was relieved that finally it was beginning to come back.
For training today my coach had scheduled a Madison Skills session with Leigh Howard and Scott McGrory. After the session was done I got chatting to Scott. Apparently he had been in Bendigo that night, and had seen me taking it up to Finning. "It was a good ride," he said, "You made the right move."
I don't know if you've noticed - I may have mentioned it once or twice - but this year I've been pretty sick. After a while being sick starts to get into your head. You start to wonder if you're ever going to reach that same level of performance that you once had. Your confidence starts to be shaken, and you start to doubt. But right now, with some wins under my belt and a compliment from an Olympic Gold Medalist in my head, I feel like I'm ready to take on the world.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Deep In The Country. Deep In The Country.
Like everybody's memory, mine sometimes is unreliable. I can't help but wonder, therefore, if some of my totally rad memories haven't been blown out of proportion, if they become more and more awesome as the days go by. Was that Nine Inch Nails show in 1996 really as mind-blowing as I remember? Were Milko bars really that delicious? Was that Alison girl I made out with in year 8 really such an amazing kisser, or am I just saying that to excuse the fact that I was making out with someone who looked a bit like my friend Evan?
When I haven't raced up in Bendigo for a while the same doubt appears. I always remember the speed, the big wide track, the space and the aggression. But after a few months of just racing at DISC, with the roll-around-and-sprint, bring-back-the-break-immediately mentality that seems to be its defining characteristic, I start to forget that track racing can be any other way.
But it can, and it is. For once my memory was perfect, if not a little understated. Nath and I drove up there on Thursday. They were doing a club Madison and I wanted in. It's a long drive - even longer on the way home - and I gotta say, I was pretty wrecked on Friday. But the racing is hard, damn hard, and those country boys know how to ride their bikes. I reckon I was the biggest muppet in the lineup - certainly the accidental hook I threw at Sean Finning in the scratch race did nothing to dispel this notion. In the Madison I got lumped with some young kid I didn't know. After talking to him before the race I casually mentioned to my brother that we were fucked. I was totally, totally wrong. The kid was a gun. I only contested two sprints (of seven, I think), and he took points in each of the others. Sure, I chased down attacks, stopped gaps from opening up, and did my bit, but he was the one who eventually won the bike race for us.
But it wasn't just that we were winning that made the racing so rad. On that big open track you can really play hard, especially when the wind is up, and you know that your hard work is going to be rewarded. There's the typical Madison mess, with riders everywhere, but the track is wide and flat enough for it never to feel unsafe. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: it just feels fast.
Plus, afterwards, if you've won something, they have presentations, and you get to make a speech. I like making speeches.
When I haven't raced up in Bendigo for a while the same doubt appears. I always remember the speed, the big wide track, the space and the aggression. But after a few months of just racing at DISC, with the roll-around-and-sprint, bring-back-the-break-immediately mentality that seems to be its defining characteristic, I start to forget that track racing can be any other way.
But it can, and it is. For once my memory was perfect, if not a little understated. Nath and I drove up there on Thursday. They were doing a club Madison and I wanted in. It's a long drive - even longer on the way home - and I gotta say, I was pretty wrecked on Friday. But the racing is hard, damn hard, and those country boys know how to ride their bikes. I reckon I was the biggest muppet in the lineup - certainly the accidental hook I threw at Sean Finning in the scratch race did nothing to dispel this notion. In the Madison I got lumped with some young kid I didn't know. After talking to him before the race I casually mentioned to my brother that we were fucked. I was totally, totally wrong. The kid was a gun. I only contested two sprints (of seven, I think), and he took points in each of the others. Sure, I chased down attacks, stopped gaps from opening up, and did my bit, but he was the one who eventually won the bike race for us.
But it wasn't just that we were winning that made the racing so rad. On that big open track you can really play hard, especially when the wind is up, and you know that your hard work is going to be rewarded. There's the typical Madison mess, with riders everywhere, but the track is wide and flat enough for it never to feel unsafe. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: it just feels fast.
Plus, afterwards, if you've won something, they have presentations, and you get to make a speech. I like making speeches.
Friday, December 2, 2011
23 Million Miles.
About a week ago I promised myself that I wouldn't write any more blog entries about my health, partially because I feel like each time I write that I'm getting healthier I jinx myself, but mostly because I'm finally - probably a good three weeks after everyone else - starting to find it a little boring. Six months of feeling like crap and obsessively searching for reasons why I'm feeling like crap may be interesting to me, but this ain't no secret journal, and occasionally I have to give some kind of consideration to you guys - my "audience", as the creative writing teachers call you. This being said, I'm the kind of guy who loves it when movies have that "where they are now" bit at the end; closure is important to me. So here it is. I'm not promising anything, but this will probably be the last blog entry on my health.
Dr Vic has been really good for me. Apparently a couple of days after our first visit he woke at three in the morning, dug my food journal out of his file, did some quick maths and figured I wasn't getting enough protein. I did some similar maths and agreed - some days I was only getting around 30 grams. So I started boosting it up to a minimum of 100 grams a day. Each time I went back to Dr Vic he asked me about it, and seemed really concerned. Eventually it came out - he once had a patient who was protein deficient, and who had ignored his advice, and eventually died.
While I get the impression that the Doctor still isn't convinced about a vegan diet, and that this death in his past has something to do with it. To his credit he isn't questioning me about it, but rather giving me homework. As such, as well as eating more protein, I have to make sure I'm getting a full spectrum of amino acids each day. There are twenty-one of the little fuckers, and it ain't easy, but being a vegan athlete wasn't ever going to be. Like Dr Garnham he has recommended that I go see a sports dietician, in the home of letting someone else figure out the complicated stuff, and I reckon that's probably going to be the next thing on my list.
The big question is, of course, how I'm feeling. Well, I'm feeling pretty damn good. When I told Dr Vic this he smiled and shook my hand. "You just wait, though," he replied, "In six months your brain will be firing and you'll think you couldn't feel any better. And then in a year you'll wonder how you ever survived feeling like you did six months ago. And then in two years, when you're back at your peak, you won't believe you ever felt so bad. You'll be flying."
Dr Vic has been really good for me. Apparently a couple of days after our first visit he woke at three in the morning, dug my food journal out of his file, did some quick maths and figured I wasn't getting enough protein. I did some similar maths and agreed - some days I was only getting around 30 grams. So I started boosting it up to a minimum of 100 grams a day. Each time I went back to Dr Vic he asked me about it, and seemed really concerned. Eventually it came out - he once had a patient who was protein deficient, and who had ignored his advice, and eventually died.
While I get the impression that the Doctor still isn't convinced about a vegan diet, and that this death in his past has something to do with it. To his credit he isn't questioning me about it, but rather giving me homework. As such, as well as eating more protein, I have to make sure I'm getting a full spectrum of amino acids each day. There are twenty-one of the little fuckers, and it ain't easy, but being a vegan athlete wasn't ever going to be. Like Dr Garnham he has recommended that I go see a sports dietician, in the home of letting someone else figure out the complicated stuff, and I reckon that's probably going to be the next thing on my list.
The big question is, of course, how I'm feeling. Well, I'm feeling pretty damn good. When I told Dr Vic this he smiled and shook my hand. "You just wait, though," he replied, "In six months your brain will be firing and you'll think you couldn't feel any better. And then in a year you'll wonder how you ever survived feeling like you did six months ago. And then in two years, when you're back at your peak, you won't believe you ever felt so bad. You'll be flying."
Friday, November 25, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
