Die Ipod, Die

The weather in the Northeast has been a big ball of suck at best this week. I've been so unmotivated. Yeah, I haven't been feeling great. The weather does not help. The joints feel like I have thumb tacks in them and I'm fatigued but that's no excuse. I've been feeling and acting like a slug lately. All I want to do this week is sit on the couch with the dee-oh-gee and watch bad t.v. Oh, and eat. And eat. And eat. Something about crappy weather that makes me want to strap on the food bag.

I thought about going for a trail run. The ankles weren't really cooperating today so I decided not to risk being crippled for a few days. I made myself set-up the trainer in the shed. Why not in the house like a normal person you ask? Well, for one, I hate to look at it. Two, it's rarely used. Three, it becomes a parrot perch or I am constantly scrubbing a cat 5 tattoo off the dog's head because he feels the need to investigate around and under the bike frequently. I hate the trainer. I usually will do anything to not have to ride the trainer.

All I had to do was get in a short and easy spin. I dug out my Ipod from the console of the truck. I knew it hadn't been used in a while so I told myself that I would ride for the life of my Ipod or for an hour, whichever came first. I was certain it was going to die within 10 minutes. Damn. That was the most excruciating hour of my life.

We were planning on a trip to MD this weekend to race. Earlier in the week I got a text from Mike saying that we got into the Stewart Six-Pack. Okay. Whatever. Six hours at Stewart. Could be a good thing. I guess I won't be getting a new bottom bracket in the SS. May as well wait until after this weekend because it's supposed to be another sloppy one. I need some long rides on the single if there is any hope of me finishing Lumberjack. Yikes.

What was I thinking?

Rescue Mission

Easy spins are so boring to me. On Tuesday night I had a purpose. It made the time pass so much faster.

I found my little turtle friend trying to cross Lakeshore Drive at rush hour on Upper Greenwood Lake. I jumped off my bike and threw it to the side and waited for my opportunity to save him from being road kill. I've been known to stop on Margaret King Ave to pull a box turtle from the road. I couldn't handle if I saw turtle smash that I could have prevented.

I put him in my back jersey pocket to take him to a safer place and he climbed up my back as I was riding. I stopped and retrieved him and he got the thumb and forefinger treatment all the way to his new home near Cascade Lake in Warwick, NY. Some quad trail and a few rock gardens...Hope he enjoyed the ride!

Reality Smack

It's that time of the year when all of my doctor's appointments are grouped within a two week time frame. They want to compare notes on how everyone's poking and prodding of me went. Like anyone who has a chronic disease or condition you become a professional at the doctor's office. No confirmation call necessary and you always have exact change for the co-pays and, most importantly, you always know where the remote control is hiding. Rheumatologist, cardiologist, pulmonologist and neurologist. I think that about sums it up for the past week or so.


My rheumey moved west so I had my first appointment with the new doctor (I will call him Dr. McSchweatyfrompenstein). It wasn't good. I'm a tough customer. There was an interview process and I will not be hiring him. First, he was portly and sweaty. I know, I know. He could be a good doctor give him a chance. Nope. Not going to happen. Strike one. Second, when he was examining my nose I could smell his nasty cigarettey hands. Ick. Strike two. Third, he asked how I got a bruise and some cuts and I told him it was on a mountain bike. He told me it was time to find a new hobby. Strike three. No good. I could go on. These are just the top three. Wait. No. I really must go on. Here are a few of his questions with the answers I had to keep to myself (so, so hard):

What's wrong with your feet? What's wrong with your face? Why are you sweating so much? Did you run here? That is the question. I don't even want to imagine what your feet look like. Barf. Hairy Fred Flinstones with talons, I presume.

Beauty-Full. Broken, mangled, Linscott freak finger-toes and all.


What is that from? A pedal. I explained and acted out my coming out of the pedal in a rock garden and the pedal cracking me in the shin. Still a blank stare. Seriously, I'm not a battered woman. Let's move on.


Did you fall? Meaning: Are you a battered wife? Did you have a memory lapse? We just covered this. Hmmm...I think we went over this mountain biking in the woods thing.


You want to start IVs again? Do you want to go on Jenny Craig and the patch? Do I need to? Do you have a reason to do so? I don't feel that crappy yet. No. Not happening yet. Seriously. At least get my blood work back before you go to that. WTF.


The best part is I go to see my cool cardiologist the next day and I told him I went to see Dr. McSchweatyfrompenstein. He looked at me and laughed and said, "Well, knowing you I know that did not go well." No. No it did not. "Are you going to be good and keep your Holter Monitor on for a day next week? Can you not sweat profusely or rip it off for a full 24 hours?" See. He knows how to talk to me. I can't promise him anything but I sure will try.