Feeling too good

I've just finished a 35 mile bicycle ride through the hills northeast of town. Not so very long ago, this ride would have left me completely spent, and the rest of the day would have consisted of long naps on the couch while the television nattered away in the background of my dreams. There would be sore legs, which would lead to the gulping of aspirin, and complaints from the love of my life: "Is that all you're going to do today?"

But not today. I was tired after finishing the ride, but there was some strength left. The muscles of lower back -- usually the weak link -- were relaxed instead of cramping up. There was a short nap in front of Wimbledon coverage, but it only lasted 20 minutes. A quick lunch, and I'm feeling good.

Maybe a little too good. In the past three weeks I have been directing an athletic resurgence of sorts. It came after my usual nattering about, trying to decide whether to focus on running or bicycling, and wondering if there was some sort of athletic goal I to which I should be aspiring.

This probably is the undue influence of Dave on my thinking. He's big on goals. He likes measuring things, too, and recording progress. It's really kind of disgusting. But that's who he is, and I accept that, and listen to his Oprah-like goal blathering as one does a toddler who chatters away without making any sense whatsoever.

I avoid goals, because it requires commitment. What if, for instance, I were to focus on cycling, only to want to jump into a 10-k in a couple of weeks? What if I were to just run, with intent on competing in a marathon and suddenly wanted to get into some sort of citizens race?

So I decided that I would try to do both. Riding one day, running the next. The theory ultimately is that the cycling will give the legs a break from the pounding of running, and will be actually a "rest" day.

I've found that it's working exceedingly well. I'm feeling stronger. I'm feeling faster, both as a runner and as a cyclist. Now I haven't run or ridden with anyone, and I haven't actually done a competition or official time trial to accurately measure this feeling, so it all might be self-delusion.

In that case, when I do jump in with a group of cyclists, or sign up for a 10-k, I might be in for a mighty humbling experience.

And in the past, feeling too good has always led to bad things. An injury. A car breakdown. So I'm worried that although I'm experience the ying of getting into pretty good shape, the yang will clang down on my skull like a frying pan.

Before the heat sets in

The air was thick this morning just after dawn. It was cool, but you knew that wasn't going to last long, not by the way the humidity was hanging in the air.

Forecasts called for the heat to come in, and that's why I dragged myself out of bed at 5:15 a.m. I wanted to get ride in, beat the heat and get to work, all before sun started scorching.

I took Highway 52 east out of town, right into the sun. Water hung on the tall glass and shimmered in the light, and mist rose out of the patches of trees that lined the road here and there as I climbed the long hill. The suns rays angled through them, as if this were a movie and Jesus was being born in those woods. I rode through little bubbles of cool air, and the moisture started clinging to the hair on my arms and dripping off my helmet.

It was one of those mornings, you know, when you're glad to be alive. As I woke up on the bike, my legs started spinning and my breath evened out and my heart began humming inside my chest. What was that I felt? Oh, yeah, I felt strong. It's been so long since I've had that feeling.

The pockets of mist turned into out and out fog as I rode further out into the country, gliding along at at even 20 to 22 mph. Suddenly the fog surrounded me, and all I could only see about 100 yards in any direction. It was a nifty, disconcerting and scary feeling all at once.

It felt as if I were stationary, and the world was spinning beneath me. Houses and barns came at me from the mist, like ships at sea. I got this crazy notion of belonging in this particular place and time. At the same time I hoped that I wouldn't get hit by a Ford Econoline van, driven by some electrician on the way to work.

I was a little lost, too. I know these roads, but when you're in a fog, there's no sense of perspective, and the landmarks I use to measure where I am were lost in all that gray.

It was one of the best rides I've had in a long, long time.

Dumping organic

About a year ago, maybe longer, under the influence of a late-1970s-era, hippie-dippie book called "The Running Mind," I embraced a concept called "goalless running."

This was a feel-good endeavor to combat all the shoulds and have-tos in my life, and a way to embrace the pure joy and freedom of movement. I would be blessed with running highs and float along the sidewalks in a wave of euphoric bliss that comes with no aim other than to be a part of nature. Like a gazelle. Or a wild stallion. Or some other animal that runs for the sheer joy of it.

My good friend Kyle called this concept "organic" running. I liked that, because it captured the spirit of the natural which I was trying to attain.

The problem? It didn't work. Goalless running was all too soon replaced by runless running, and I promptly gained 5 pounds.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought a battery for my heart rate monitor, and went out for a three-mile run with it strapped to my chest. My goal was to keep my heart rate within the prescribed training zone for a man of my age.

I found that it was remarkably easy, and that for most of my runs, I've been going out to hard. While in many ways that's OK, it's also not very sustainable. Since then, I've been wearing the heart rate monitor to keep myself in check, much like the RPM gauge does on a car. And my runs have been easier, more fun and I've been feeling a lot more productive.

On Sunday morning, I ran for 7 1/2 miles, and felt fresh when I finished. It was the longest run I've clocked since, well, I can't remember the last time I ran that far.

I've decided that I'm going to charge up the old Garmin Forerunner next, and embrace it like a long-lost friend.

Not abandoned.

I read today that, according to the New York Times, "only 7.4 million out of the 133 million blogs the company tracks had been updated in the past 120 days. That translates to 95 percent of blogs being essentially abandoned."

I immediately felt a stab of guilt. This poor blog has been sitting at the truck stop of the Information Superhighway, while its creator has been, well, not really doing much of anything. Maybe this blog has been woefully neglected, but it's not been abandoned.

And just in case the you're monitoring, make that 7,399,999, Old Gray Lady.