I really meant to do it.
But instead, I did the Lazy Cyclist's NYC Marathon.
Need instructions?
Go out the night before. Drink wine (South African - very good)
Wake up late.
Tune in late to Marathon Coverage on TV and miss the start.
Realize that everybody's favorite male equivalent of the 'dumb blond' weather girl - Al Trautwig, is doing the commentary and curse the fates that made you interested in sports that the networks deem worthy of 'wacky Al'.
Turn off the sound and marvel as Paula Radcliffe dominates the women's race from beginning to end.
Feel guilty.
Haul your ass onto your bike and go cheer on some stragglers.
Finish 26 miles in 02:16 - not bad considering the traffic was murder.
Not much going on on Fourth Ave. by the time I got there, but they still wouldn't let me bike on it
Aside from the insanity on Fifth Ave. in Brooklyn, the ride was lovely. The weather was crisp and slightly overcast - technically perfect for riding.
I cobbled together a 'cool weather' riding outfit and set out to do my 26.
Life was pretty good until I hit the shore bike path. There, riding into a nice chilly headwind coming off the harbor, I discovered that my fingers and wrists get chilled where they are exposed, my lips chap, my nose runs, and I get cold crotch. Fingers, lips, nose... these I expected. But cold crotch? Is there such a thing as too well ventilated ergonomically designed sports equipment? Those of you with gender specific bike seats may know what I'm talking about here.
All I can say is, every once in a while, I'd hit a gust of wind, and 'Oh Daddy!' - Yowza, I have got to work that out if I'm going to be riding in chilly weather.
My version of a water stop.
Congratulations Martin Lel, Paula Radcliffe, and the 38,000 runners in this years NYC Marathon. Hell, I can't even run for the bus.
No comments:
Post a Comment