"I Like Pain", He Said

I had planned to ride the Dirty Girls mountain bike series on Saturday morning...until I got the text at 7am that the ride was canceled due to weather.

As I lay there sleepy-headed, having fallen back asleep after Jay left for work, I tried to think of rides I could jump on at this late start.

In my sleepy-headed delirium, my road bike was on the back of my car as it usually is when I head over to Jay's.

As it was, I had taken it off the night before when I took Ty's bike over to get him re-fit.

This didn't dawn on me as I thought about the group that might be riding over in IL (a short 15 minute drive from Jay's).

I contacted Patrick to see if they're riding there.

Nope.

He tells me they are riding out in Ballwin.

*thinks quickly in head*

Hey! I live there!

(Some days, things make sense to me.)

They are rolling out at 8am.

DOHHHH!

I tell Patrick I'm south ask him if it's going to be a hammer-fest and he assures me that it won't be.

He says he's not sure which route they're taking, but that they'll wait for me.

saWEEEET!

Sooooo...I spring out of bed and fly out the door to the garage.

Double DOHHHH!

No bike on the back of the velo wagon.

I haul ass to Ballwin and charge through the house grabbing things I will need.

I make my PowerBar water and grab an extra water bottle and my Hammer gel.

I am fairly confident that there will be no girls on this ride and that makes me nervous.

I run out the door forgetting my gear bag and my morning kyo-green smoothie.

(This cute little fact will later smack the F*CK out of me!)

I roll up to Aaron's house and the Big Shark posse is there awaiting my late and frenzied arrival.

Holy hell!

I realize I am about to be tortured by Hawley, Klages, Hinni and Gray.

*gulp*

I am happy to see Klages, since he is already familiar with my special brew of "issues" and although Patrick is somewhat aware, poor Hinni and Gray are clueless to all of this.

We head out from Aaron's and I feel OK.

We head toward Castlewood and I am aware that I am about to (for the very first time) ride up "that hill".

*thinks in head..."WOW! I really wish I was getting a massage right now instead of attacking this hill on a wet road with a bunch of boys!!"*

I'm the last one up.

(This shocks you, yes?)

Patrick prepares me for the fast and furious (and friggin' WET!) descent to Kiefer Creek.

I don't wreck.

(This shocks you too, yes?)

We head uphill again and I am behind, but within view.

At some point they wait for me and by the time we reach Old State Road, I tell them to go on and that I am just going to ride loops so I don't hold them up.

I get a bunch of "PSHAWS!" and they tell me to stay on with them.

David tells me to tuck in and how they will protect me as we ride.

Needless to say, we are no longer in Ballwin...

We soon find ourselves in Wildwood...

...and Eureka...

...and while somewhere along the way I managed to not die on those effing hills, when I realized that we were in Eureka, I almost cried.

My body was screaming, but no one other than Jim would know this...and he would only get it if I told him, which I didn't.

I know he knew.

He waited for me on one huge ass hill that went on for days (in Wildwood...I think), until I told him to go on.

I assumed that he knew I wanted them to roll on and leave me, but those guys waited for me at the top.

I would have said, "Dammit!" but it was so friggin' nice that it just made me push myself harder.

I shut up and tried to hold on.

There was a sprint for an imaginary City Limit sign in Eureka, but that city is pretty much a blur to me.

I let Patrick know that I didn't have it and wondered how long my walk home would be.

I hung on (barely, because they were being nice to me) as we made a left turn and headed up the grandest road this ol' girl has ever been on.

Wow! What a monster!

That bitch just sprawled up, up, up...and around...

I see the guys glide up this beast as if they are pulled by some invisible force that thinks girls have cooties.

I think I am about an eighth up it before my body bails on me.

No amount of Hammer gel is going to save me.

We have been riding a couple hours and I have taken in under a hundred calories.

(By the way, that is NOT wise, nor was it my plan.)

Food doesn't work out for me these days and I didn't even have the previous night's dinner in me anymore.

I was screwed.

I try all the yoga breathing in my vault and still, I am trembling and feeling the stabbing pains of a thousand daggers in my kidneys and chest.

It's then that I realize that Mr. Hawley has waited for me.

I reward him with a giant set of dry heaves and snot drainage in the foliage as I grasp the side of the rock wall and hope that I don't die or worse...pass out.

I ask him where we are so that I can figure out a plan of escape/rescue.

He and Klages agree that the best thing is to get me to St. Albans.

(Heck, even I can find my way home from THERE!)

I watch David and Aaron fly down the hill like two little kids with roman candles strapped to their asses and it makes me laugh...but I am a bit jealous too.

At the bottom of St. Albans, we make a plan.

We are all going to ride out.

We are all going to follow the same route.

Patrick is going to take my key and the boys are going to hammer back to Aaron's to get my car and I will be picked up.

*Hello, Loser!*

We head out of St. Albans and up Hwy T.

David checks with me before they take off to make sure I'm OK.

I tell him that I am and I watch them haul ass up that hill as if it was a descent.

I look at my power tap and it is blanked out.

*Dammit!*

I screw with it and call Ty and Jay to let them know where I am and what the plan is.

I get back on and start up that awful hill. (Which will now be my nemesis and I will absolutely get the hell up that hill without stopping/dying one day VERY soon!)

Once I cross Hwy 100, I feel fine.

I pick up the pace and continue my workout while keeping an eye out for my car.

I turn onto Hutchinson and wonder if I missed the guys and if possibly I was supposed to stay on Hwy 100 instead of Manchester...

I figure I'll just call them when I get to Lone Wolf.

As I turn onto Clayton Rd from Hutchinson, I see Patrick and Aaron in my car.

Holy hell!

I made it way far and didn't miss them!

I look down at my power tap and although my average for that last 8.83 miles was a sucky 111 watts, at some point it shows that I put out a max of 577 watts...which is more than I put out in my crit last week...and that makes me smile.

I was never so happy to see the velo wagon and was happy to let Patrick drive while my legs spazzed out and Aaron fondled the cx saddle he found in the back of my car.

I feel like I have been stabbed in the kidneys and wonder if I should skip brunch and simply have them cut out to ease the pain, but the whole "down time" off the bike discourages me...

Later that night while Jay and I are discussing the next day's MTB race at Lost Valley, he decides that he will do the marathon race. (3 hours of hell and pain that I wouldn't even wish on my ex!)

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I really like pain."

I look at this strange man whom I love and am suddenly fully aware of the yin and yang that is us.

I spend my days (and LOTS of dollars) trying to get out of pain.

He spends his days trying to find new and interesting ways to be in more pain.

At that moment...

(...and only for that moment...)

...I think that the next time he takes me out on a hill ride, I'm just gonna kick him in the ding-ding with my cleat while he's making a wee-wee and see if he feels the same way about pain.

Knowing him, he will.

And I sort of have to admire that.

Not Sucking in a Circle

Holy crap!

I did it!

I finally (yeah...finally) finished a crit!

(No, not one that I started last season, but on the very day that I started the race!)

It was super awesome!

(I effing hate crits!)

This one was fun....OK, "funnish".

That being said, I made a few mistakes and made a few HUGE strides for me.

WHOA!

Dan pep talked me the Friday before. He knew I was a bit trigger shy to get back in the saddle after wrecking the week before.

Truth is, I was sore as sh*t and just a little afraid of Trent (my bike).

(That's a little tough to admit to yourself, nevermind your coach.)

He told me he didn't care if I rode Friday (so of course I did) as long as I spun my legs on Saturday to open up my muscles.

I decided to ride Friday with Judy and at one point some dude on a mountain bike decides to screw with us and acts a fool when we pass left.

Game on.

It felt really good to open up and push as he kept stepping up the pace.

It felt better when I dropped him.

(Hello? Where did THAT competitive streak come from?!?!)

That little bit was enough charge for me to settle in on top of Trent and get reacquainted. I was mentally ready for my race on Sunday.

Soooooo...on Sunday morning, Jay and I get to Forest Park at about 6:45am.

We both realize we need a restroom and run over to Coffee Cartel so Jay can grab a bite and we can both get some relief.

We get back to the park at about 7:10am. (My race is at 8am.)

We set up and I get on the rollers to loosen up.

I do not know why this never works for me before a race, but I am always better spinning around than being on the trainer or rollers pre-race.

I feel the pain in my body and attempt to zone out to my shuffled playlist.

It's not working.

I go for my "sure thing" and throw on The Kings of Leon.

No go.

My body cries and I start to feel anxious.

I have to stop this!

I get off the rollers and ride the lot practicing my corners and letting my skin adjust to the chilly morning air.

I roll over to Jay, get my last minute items and hit the course to ride with everyone else.

Jay tells me to get some sprints in to open up.

I do.

I'm as ready as I will be today.

As we line up, I realize that my power tap isn't transmitting properly, so we screw around with that and finally it works.

At this point, the Juniors are lined up and some other Cat 4 women are lined up in front of where I was with my friends.

Remembering what Dan (and Chris) has told me, I line up in the front.

It feels weird.

I like it.

I notice a curious lack of trembling in my body.

(Am I dead?)

The whistle blows and we're off. (Yeah, me too!)

I like where I am as we hit that first turn and slight hill.

I really like this whole turning without breaking thing as we sprint through turn 2.

(Hi? Who is this person on my bike? Where is Cory and what have you done with her?)

I notice that I am breathing.

(Always a good thing to notice, especially in a race.)

I feel good. I feel strong.

(Flips off Negative Nelly medical "professionals".)

Somewhere about 15 minutes into the race I bridged when we dropped off.

It didn't stick.

*screeching sound of mental brakes*

Go back and re-read that.

I (Me...Cory Redmond) left the comfort of "the people" and bridged.

I'm pretty sure my mother is calling a priest right this moment.

OK, it didn't stick, but I amazed myself for that chunk of seconds. (Honestly, it wasn't a very big bridge.)

I think I was in a stupor for a while as my inner personalities decided who was going to race this race for me. This lasted through turns 1, 2, and 3 and while approaching turn 4, "Baby Cory" stuck her fingers up "Racer Cory's" nose and covered her mouth so that breathing was tricky (out of effing NO WHERE!) as we came into the turn.

I hear Steph say, "I'm right here, Cor."

I hear Susan say, "Hang in there, Cory."

Both are passing me in the turn.

Hell to the no.

*Racer Cory slaps Baby Cory and gives her a swirly*

I find Steph's wheel and go.

I am not getting dropped in this race. Not today.

*Dammit*

I hang on, but the now obvious sounds of my weezing and Susan's weezing entertains Stephanie once she realizes that it isn't her weezing.

There are four of us in this pack.

Steph says, "Cory, we are finishing this race if we have to carry our bikes across the Finish."

I agree.

When we come through the Start/Finish on the next lap, I see the time as "22". Now, this is where I had made a mental mistake.

I am so used to cx races that are 45 minutes plus however many laps, that it did not dawn on me to check the length of this race. Soooooo, I see "22" and think that I have a whole lot more time to go.

This is when I start to freak out a bit.

I am thinking, "Holy sh*t! I am only halfway through with this race?!?!? I don't have it! Holy sh*t! I am gonna DNF! F*CK!!!!! Dammit! No!"

All of this in my head, while breathing and hanging on.

We stay together for another lap and as we come through, Steph says, "We have 1 more lap and than 5."

I think I am hearing things.

She says it again.

I swear that I can see rays of sunlight shooting out of her wheels and her helmet looks almost like a halo.

Holy hell!

I only have 6 more laps!

SIX!

I can do SIX!

I can do almost anything six times....almost!

This gives me the charge that I need.

The four of us start making jokes on the back side of the course.

Suzanne wonders if it is too early for a beer...

Steph promises Powerade to all of her friends...

I start to think/dream of a Bailey's martini...

We take turn 3 and Suzanne (unknowingly) cuts too close right and almost wrecks me.

I see the curb in 3-D and slow motion.

I tap my break lightly and then have to sprint harder up that hill toward turn 4.

I am pissed.

Not at her, but that I almost wrecked and that I had to break.

As we roll through the Start/Finish, the race has been shortened and we have 3 laps to go.

I'm game.

Steph and I have rotated and worked together with Susan the whole race.

We are ready.

In the last lap, I am mentally prepared to go all out.

My goal is to finish behind Steph and to beat Suzanne. (Sorry Suzanne. I had to pick someone.)

We hit turn 3 and sprint up the hill attacking Suzanne.

Strong.

We take turn 4 and Steph comes around.

I yell, "GO!" and we take off.

I stay with Steph and keep a look out for a counter attack from Suzanne.

It doesn't come.

Steph and I cross the Finish and (of course) I have tears.

I am so effing high right then that I can't see straight.

I become a Catholic again for a second (a pure sign that I am dehydrated) and cross myself...and make the "Peace" sign with a Namaste combo.

Yep, there's the freakshow we all know and love!

I am like an ADHD kid on crack and Mountain Dew by the time I reach Jay.

I know he's amused by my excitement, but I am elated and there will never (no really!) be a better race for me.

I run over to Steph and hug her and we dig into her birthday cookie with zero regrets.

Kicking ass with your friend on her birthday...?

Priceless.

Observing the Holey Day

When we first rolled out on Sunday morning for our hill training ride, I imagined that my blog that day would be to sing the praises of the delightful new saddle Jay put on my bike to replace the "cookie destroyer" that I had been riding. As it turns out, this blog will be very different, though I will still sing the praises of my new Selle Italia SLK gel flow (aka "package of love").

Allow me to set the scene...

*makes rewinding sounds with mouth like a more moronic (is this possible?) female Jack Black*

Saturday, a group of us headed to Columbia Bottoms to ride the flats.

This is always a fun ride to do just when you are starting to feel really strong and confident. As you ride into miles of head winds, you battle your mind as much as the wind and hope/pray that your body decides to be on your team. (My body seems to toss a coin in which I am on the losing side every time. Every. Time.)

*flips off stupid body*

For me it is mind-fuckage enough to roll out knowing I am the weakest rider in the group. This route leaves me no opportunity for redemption. All I can do is push harder than I did the last time and just get better.

I pushed myself out of my comfort level.

I did my sprints in the wind.

I screamed in my head.

I questioned myself as to why I wasn't on a lovely-paced group ride away from the ass-kicking winds on such a glorious day...

Then I reminded myself that I was trying to get better. Stronger. Faster.

...or at least less of a big baby.

That's when it got better for me.

When we headed back, Jay told me to jump on his wheel and he was gonna motor...

I watched him take off and thought "less than sweet" thoughts about the ways in which I would torture him later, but I picked up the pace.

I pushed.

It felt wonderful.

I was alone, and it was very freeing.

When Jay and I meet up down the road, we ride together and finish our work out, and play around to have a little fun to close out the ride.

By the time we roll back to our cars, we are laughing and feel pretty good.

I know that I will have to go back out there soon and get my ass kicked, but at least it was over for that day...

Fast forward to Sunday morning.

*makes fast forward sound yet again like a moronic female Jack Black*

We wake up and it is beautiful out.

Jay opens the doors and windows and we enjoy breakfast and get ready to head out for some hill training.

Just as we are dressed, the sky opens up and it pours down.

F*CK!!

It stops abruptly and Jay says, "Let's go!"

The sun is shining brightly and the birds are singing gloriously when we roll out.

I have the honor of being on Jay's wheel and being bathed in the magical glow of his muddy wheel spray...

I am thinking in my head about how this must be true love if I am not upset that my Radars are being sprayed with this mess when a gust of wind knocks me sideways.

I stay upright, but a smallish scream escapes my lips. I then bite my lower lip hoping that Jay didn't hear it.

I am, beyond thrilled that I have another long day of wind with the added topping of hills and wonder why freaks like us consider this "fun"...

This sarcasm takes my mind down the path of a blog that Jessi sent me last week (Sitting In and Bowing Out: The Art of Pass/Fail Racing), and I start laughing as I imagine wrecking myself so that I don't have to ride hills this day...

I come to my senses as I remember how much I love my skin so much better on my person than on the pavement and remember that I no longer have the luxury/stupidity of pain meds...

We ride up a lovely hill and I am loving the fact that we have switched out my small ring...

The hill was almost enjoyable.

We turn onto a busy and wet Jeffco Blvd. and Jay comments about the wind.

We joke about how the wind knocked me way back there and roll up to a stop light in the left turn lane.

The wind is hitting us pretty hard as we sit there.

The light turns green and we both stand up to power through it.

Just then, a huge (to me) gust of wind throws down a "Cory Bitchslap" and I watch my wheels lift sideways as I am thrown across the intersection.

I have a somewhat surreal experience as I watch myself sliding across the pavement on my chest and side while looking behind me to make sure a car isn't going to run over my head.

Thankfully, there were no cars behind me.

Quick as shit I jump up and grab my beloved Trent (my bike) and haul ass out of the road so I don't get run over by some Confederate Flag waving yahoo in a Dodge Ram.

Jay holds my bike as I sit down and tremble a bit and assess my bodily damage.

Face and hands in tact, I look at the mess that is my elbow and left leg and start laughing. I then realize that there is some interesting damage on my upper thigh, under my shorts and to my left nipple.

(Yep. I have road rash on my nip.)

Niiiiiiiiice.

Jay offers to call his mom to pick me up, but I think I can roll on.

(I mean seriously, it's a boo-boo!)

We start to roll on and another gust of wind comes.

That's it.

I can be a badass only so many times in one ten-minute frame of time.

I imagined either:

A) wrecking again on my now bloody left side and mentally cringed,

or...

B) wrecking on my right side and being like that kid in A Christmas Story who can't move his arms in that snowsuit (except with me in dual casts)...and that was all it took for me.

I was out.

Jay's mom came to get me and Jay continued his ride. (You can read more about that here.)

When I return to the house, I strip down and immediately shower to get the dirt and blood off of me before my shock wears off and I have to scream.

(See? I am smarter than the average bear.)

I decide which wounds will be the easiest to apply peroxide and save the gashed elbow for last.

I pour on the peroxide and it is like one of those scenes in a movie where you hear the echo out in the wilderness and all the birds are chased from their nests...

Yeah. A scream like that.

I am happy that Jay is far away in the wind and cannot hear me (or point and laugh).

I pack up my things and am about to head out when I remember the items of love in the cabinet that Jay had purchased for us a while back...

(Hey! Get your mind out of the gutter!)

And while in the spirit of the blog title I would love to tell you I made myself a Virgin Mary, I didn't.

Instead, in the spirit of my ride, I made myself a very yummy Bloody Cory...errrr...Mary and relaxed while lounging on the sofa in front of the window and listened to the wind blow.

I thought of Jay getting his ass kicked out there and raised my glass to him.

I took a sip and thought, "Better you than me, Honey!"

I Can't Tell You to be Less Stinky

Society is a bit screwed up.

No. Really. It is.

On any given day, people feel that they can tell me that I am too skinny. (I'm not.)

Or that I need to gain weight. (I'm succeeding at this. Trust.)

I remember my friend Melissa having the same issue in high school and it was pretty hurtful to her.

People feel that they can say whatever they want because *people* assume that everyone WANTS to be thin.

In actuality, it's often the people who claim to want to be thin (but who are going in the wrong direction) who are doing the badgering.

I had to think about this for the second time in my life as I have been trying to put some weight on to get "stronger".

I can't randomly tell an obese person that they are too fat and that they need to lose weight. If I do, I am "insensitive", "rude", "mean", "hateful", or (this is the best) "shallow".

Really?

Yes. Really.

Even though chances are that if I were to have a conversation with an obese person, I would have their interest more at heart than they have mine with regard to losing weight and certainly more than they have their own best interests at heart. (Notice how many times the word "heart" is mentioned...? Heart disease, anyone?)

Chances are I could (and would) also educate them on the cancerous risks of being overweight. (Like how an obese woman is six (6) times more likely to die of cancer than one with a healthy BMI.)

Yeah. It's true. Look it up.

Is that mean?

No.

But I still don't just spew that nonsense to someone who does not inquire.

What about the eating patterns they are setting for their children?

If they teach those habits to their children who then develop Type II Diabetes, even though the education was out there to prevent it, is that ignorance punishable?

No. It isn't.

Even though the strain on the health care system affects all of us, we are assholes if we ask people to respect themselves and love their children enough not to raise all of our premiums.

That doesn't even address the psychological effects on the children who are being raised overweight or in an overweight environment.

We are the fattest society in the world. (In. The. World.)

And although in some societies, long, long ago, a fat man was the symbol of success, education has changed that way of thinking. Now the world sees us fat, but not particularly brilliant. (Gee, I wonder why...?)

I'm sorry, I thought given the topic I should leave off the sugar coating...

OK, let's switch gears so that I don't make anyone cry...

Let's talk about stinkiness.

I can't just randomly tell a stinky person to stop being stinky.

Why not?

Certainly someones stink is far more offensive than my alleged "too thin" frame.

(WARNING: This next part will not be pretty and it will piss off even people whom I know and love, including my mom, though that isn't the intent.)

Hey, my mom is completely self aware and knows she's stinky. She bought a farm and moved out there so she could be happy with her horses, dogs, chickens, goats, and cigarettes...and away from people who will tell her she needs to stop smoking.

(She still has me harping on her though, so that keeps things fun and lively.)

Here's the thing, I could not walk right up to a smoker and tell them that they need to stink less.

Honestly, I would rather stand next to 10 homeless men who have urinated on themselves than stand next to one smoker who smokes in a closed vehicle and then enters a store.

Yummmm! I don't know about you, but I truly love the taste of veggies and nicotine! It's the ultimate!

And I also get super excited when I see store workers smoking right in front of the entrance/exit of a store. It makes me want to rush right in and buy all kinds of fun edible stuff.

I won't even start on the "health care" workers who feel the need to smoke right outside the hospital doors..

*bites down hard on tongue*

Just TRY to ask a smoker to please not smoke right there or to blow their smoke in a different direction. They are usually super receptive to such requests. You very rarely will get met with a, "Fuck you!" or "It's a free country, bitch."

No. Really. Try it. It's good family fun.

I used to work with a large group of smokers who would come back inside and stink to high heaven.

The fact that they are the biggest time-wasters in the company is made even better when they put their disgusting jackets next to yours in the coat closet.

(Yay! I love having to spend extra money on dry cleaning just so ignorant people can kill themselves and pollute the air around us while reducing office productivity!)

Free country?

The dry cleaning to get your stink off my coat isn't free.

The salary you are wasting by smoking and not working is not free.

Smokers are the WORST. (Not as general human beings, but with regard to respecting others and time suckage, yes.)

They are also slightly amusing...

They are the only people I have witnessed be so willing to give the US government extra taxes....and the government knows it.

They could tax the fuck out of cigarettes and those nut cases would keep on paying.

(Hi. When I was a kid and my mother-the-smoker used to send me to buy her cigarettes, they cost a dollar. One Dollar USD)

How much is a pack of cigarettes now? (A LOTTA DOLLARS!)

How much of that total price is government assessed tax? (A LOTTA DOLLARS!)

What are the ingredients of cigarettes which you claim that I have no right to bitch about when they are burned in my face?

*taps head and thinks of fun and healthy ingredients to pass on to one's children and random strangers*

Hey kids, would you like to invite nicotine, tar, and carbon monoxide over to play? Oh hey, let's not leave out your friends formaldehyde, ammonia, hydrogen cyanide, arsenic, and DDT, mmmmmkay?

(Yay! Sounds like a party!)

Sugar coat it all you want, only ignorant people smoke. The education is there and they ignore it. They DO know better.

I won't even start on the moms and dads who "love" their children enough to buy a minivan and then close the windows and light up while toting their kids to school (so they can be stinky and picked on too).

*checks off psychological damage on list of selfishness and parental dysfunction*

It's always a sad irony when I also see a "She's a child not a choice" bumper sticker on the back of THAT rolling coffin...errrrrr...minivan.

*rolls eyes*

Hey, I'm not up on some high horse (OK, maybe I am), but we are walking around in an alleged "politically correct" society when really we are pussy-footing around peoples "feelings" instead of getting anything actually accomplished.

These same demographics have sued the tobacco industry because they got sick and McDonald's because they got fat. (Seriously?!?!)

People get their feelings "hurt" because they are in denial about the truth, so that becomes every one else's problem?

*Yawn*

Nope. Sorry. I would like to cover my ears and sing "la la la la la la" when I get told the truth, but then again, I only have cancer, not a real problem like a smoking addiction or obesity.

(OUCH! That had to sting a little, yes?)

*snicker*

Karma and the Chain Snap Bitchslap

Saturday morning I had planned to to the Maplewood Bicycle shop ride with Stephanie, since we haven't ridden strictly for "fun" in a while.

Unfortunately, my littlest had come down with a bug the evening before and was still running a decent temperature in the morning. I didn't feel I should risk being gone long or far, so I canceled my ride with Steph and was unsure of an actual ride plan at that point.

Jay, who normally leaves early in the morning for his ride too, stayed back until I could leave to get some spinning in as well. Ty agreed to watch his sister while I rode as I had agreed to taxi him to and from his girlfriend's house later that evening. (Negotiations are fun, yes?)

We decided to roll out from my house and hit The Lone Wolf Coffee Company for some pre-ride nutrients and head out West on Clayton Rd to hit some hills.

(This was Jay's idea because secretly...on some days...he is the Devil. I am certain of this.)

*blows kisses at Honey*

We head up Valley Rd. and head out to Orville Rd, which boasts an interesting hill for which I was unprepared...at least mentally.

It was one of those long spiraling climbs that I need to be more on the mark about because I won't always know what's ahead of me, and I sure didn't on this one. It mentally screwed me. I thought bad words.

As it was, I ended up spinning up the sweet little cutie more than I usually like.

Once I reached Jay at the top, I asked him if he was trying to kill me. I told him that I wasn't "ready" for hills like that all day.

He reminded me that:

A) I won't always know the type of hill or terrain ahead of me and

B) That I have to get ready some time.

(He's so unimaginably adorable when he does this!)

*smirk*

Dammit!

He's right and I know he's right, but at that moment, I had dreams of never doing anything but flat time trials for the rest of my racing "career".

I told him to just warn me next time. He agreed he would...and he did.

We continue on and I am feeling pretty good. I have worked up a nice heat and I am toasty in the cloudy and brisk 30 degree air.

As we turn onto Hwy 109 (I think), I start to hear and feel a knocking on my bike. I can feel it in my stroke and since Jay had been having a knocking issue since last week that no one seems able to figure out, I tell him.

Then...

...mid-revolution...

*SNAP!*

There goes my chain and the pull on my groin muscle is so acute that I'm pretty sure I made a high pitched, only-heard-by-dogs type sound...

There went my chain.

Luckily Jay has a chain tool and luckily I have a spare multi-tool. I make a mental note to grab my other multi-tool (the one with the chain tool) off my desk when I go to work on Monday. Jay fixes it and we roll on.

I am enjoying the open road of BA and feeling pretty good by the time we hit Pond Rd.

We start talking about architecture and what we would or wouldn't do as we assess the houses we pass.

The road has some nice rollers and I'm regaining my confidence after that one wicked climb schooled me, when...

*SNAP!*

There went the chain again.

[insert choice vocabulary here]

I'm not sure if it was because we were in a "nice and conservative" neighborhood, or because most days I do have the sense not to curse at inanimate objects, but I didn't actually cuss.

I'm frustrated because it was effing cold and every time we stopped we lost our heat...plus this nonsense kept making the ride longer than was intended which was stressing me out a bit with a sick one at home.

I am frustrated because my stupid chain is screwing up both of our workouts.

Jay works on the chain again and it is looking gnarly...even to a mechanical noob like me.

He tells me I need to go easy with the shifting and I agree that I will likely spin up the hills from here on out...

(That part will be tough for me as I have somehow sort of forgotten how to spin...at least effectively.)

We have a hill directly as we start rolling again...maybe 100 feet or so.

Jay is next to me and I hear something clink to the ground and I say, "There it goes again..."

However, the chain is still on and we continue up the hill and just then...

*SNAP!*

This time, it is toast. Done. Finito.

We attempt to call Mark from Ballwin Cycles to see if he is on his way to the store. Voicemail.

I tell Jay to roll on and come back with the car to get me later.

He decides he is going to push/pull me home.

*scratches head*

Ummmm...oooooookay.

I clip in and push off the wall, we nearly wreck and then we are up, up, up...

Oooooh! Look! There's Hwy 100! This should be REALLY super fun to cross with one cyclist pulling another without a chain in the the wind.

(Love you, Honey!)

This ride home was a true test of our communication skills as motorists zoom by at 55+ MPH, we managed to safely get to Westglen/Manchester before Jay flats his rear wheel.

I am at this point frozen because I am not working. My fingers and toes are numb.

We pull over to address the flat.

An SUV stops and its owners ask if we are OK.

We are dumbfounded.

We are used to motorists aiming for us or gunning their engines to prove that their machine is more "powerful". We are not used to them actually pulling over to assist.

We look at them gratefully but tell them that we are OK.

We decide that they are cyclists.

We have 2 good climbs ahead of us, so Jay decides to call Barry from Ballwin Cycles and since he is on his way in to the shop, he can come grab me.

Jay changes his flat and I slip on my cleat covers and cross Manchester to start walking toward home on the shoulder. I move fast to get the blood going again...Hello toes!

Barry picks me up and Jay meets me back at my place.

At this point it is actually funny...at least to me.

I can't figure out whether I got the Karma bitchslap for bailing on my ride with Steph or for riding at all while The Sass was under the weather, but either way, I got it.