The Rumor About the True Things

Today began the long, slow process of getting my lungs and legs back to race-strength -- a process complicated, I'm sure, by the fact that I was only at race strength for about two or three weeks last season. But mattio and I have our eyes on a criterium in Connecticut in March. Matt is fast as hell, he's just sharpening his edge. Me? I have to re-forge the whole damn blade. So late this morning, I slapped the tubular wheels onto the Raleigh, donned my Dad's old wool jersey, and hit Prospect Park.

Now, as far back as I can remember, I've performed poorly in the cold. I get this pain under my tongue, and my breath seems less... effective, for lack of a better word. It used to happen whenever I exerted myself, but that's long since past... I've never been able to get around it in the cold, however. This past Christmas Eve I was talking to my cousin, the jock of the family, and she was describing something similar, saying she had cold-induced asthma. So maybe that's it? Regardless, I've decided, for the meantime, to try to push through it. My lungs were definitely the limiting factor today, and I'm coughing now as I type this, but it ultimately felt very good to get some miles on my legs, reawaken the ten pounds I put on them this past summer. So we'll see. What's the worst that could happen, purposely egging on a possible asthma?

After a few go-rounds, including what would have been a very successful stalking of a carbon-fiber bicycle up the prospect park hill, had my lungs not given out at the apex, mattio broke off and did his thing, and I headed for home. The whole way towards which was spent trying to figure a way to mount a camera with a remote shutter release on my handlebars or helmet, so that I could post all the wonderful sights I see on my various training routes.

Cheers.