Monday, June 26, 2006

Near Miss

However that phrase originated, it’s purely wrong. Not that it really bugs me personally, but it does make me crack a smile whenever I hear it, thinking of how accepting we are of twists in our language. It made me smile, that is, until I was almost the victim of one myself today.

This reminds me of the Sedaris essay “I Almost Saw This Girl Get Killed”. This is what I can say now, smiling, joking, and incredibly grateful that my brush with death was only a brush. Boulder is so pedestrian-friendly that sometimes we forget, as pedestrians, that cars can and will hit and kill you. There’s absolutely nothing like seeing someone get hit by a car. It’s absolutely horrifying to witness, especially if your lifestyle depends on waling and cycling everywhere, since it’s an instant reminder of just how vulnerable you are. I saw a cyclist get creamed on Valmont once, right near where I live, and it was absolutely awful. The cyclist was heading towards me, there was a truck coming up behind him, and I was on the other side of the street running. I looked up, gave the cyclist a little wave, he gave me a little wave back, and I returned to my usual practice of looking at the ground about 3-4 feet in front of me. I didn’t look up again until I heard brakes squeal. The driver of the truck was on his cell phone and had swerved into the bike lane without knowing it. The cyclist went flying through the air like a rag doll and hit the asphalt hard; I remember seeing his head bounce and being instantly grateful that he had a good, well-fitting helmet on. I was far enough away that by the time I ran by an ambulance was on the way, but it was heart-wrenching. The driver of the truck was out with a passenger and the cyclist on the road, and they weren’t moving him for fear of damaging him further. The driver and passenger looked stricken, completely devoid of emotion, while the cyclist’s face twisted in agony. I said a silent prayer for all of them and then one for me, to never, ever let that happen.

I run the same route a lot, a 3.5 mile loop around my apartment complex. I love it; it’s my route, and it’s easy to turn it into a five mile, 7 mile, 10 mile, 13 or 14 mile, etc., depending on where you cut off the loop and/or how many laps you do. Got home from work today, threw on my running clothes, and headed out. I was trying out a new sport drink and the combination of “performance enhancers” (no, no EPO or anything too exciting; sorry everyone, more like caffeine and taurine and creatine) in the drink were causing my heart rate to soar unexpectedly and quickly, so I decided to pare down my 3.5 to a 2 mile and chill for the rest of the afternoon. I was scheduled for a rest day; I just felt the need to get out and go when I got home. I didn’t really care that my workout would be cut short; my heart rate was definitely the more important issue at hand. I walked a bit, jogged a bit, and took it easy until I got to the corner of Iris and Folsom, which is (for those of you outside of Boulder and.or unfamiliar with my route!) about ¾ of a mile from my apartment on my usual route. I was watching traffic turning left onto Folsom; while I had the right-of-way, I was running East and it was about 6pm, so the sun was setting behind me. I knew drivers would have a hard time seeing me, so I approached the intersection with caution. The first car turning left turned in front of me, completely oblivious to my presence. The next car was a black coupe, maybe a Mazda 323 or the like, and I swear, that driver made eye contact with me. I swear he totally saw me. I swear he was going to let me go first, and I realized, as I was bringing my left hand up to wave “thanks”, that he had no fucking clue that I was there.

You hear weird things like “it seemed like time slowed down” and “I saw my life flash before my eyes” and I didn’t see any of my life flash but it did seem like Hollywood’s greatest slow-scene production crew was in charge of my life for a minute there. Less than a minute. One moment I was running along, perhaps not gracefully but certainly peacefully, and the next I was face-to-face with a half a ton of metal coming straight towards me. My eyes were popping out of my head; I’m pretty sure my Oakleys were the only thing keeping them in. The driver finally (finally!) saw me and I saw his eyes widen and his hand drop the cell phone he was holding to his ear as he wrenched the wheel and slammed on the brakes. I distinctly heard brakes squealing, smelled the hot, horrible pungency of burnt rubber and stopped in my tracks, a total deer in the headlights. I saw the car turning, twisting, coming towards me, and I was bracing and waiting to feel the impact of the side of the bumper and the front driver’s side quarterpanel shattering my kneecaps when, by some miracle, the car stopped. I was so ready for it to hit me that I had braced myself so that when it did stop, my hands came thudding down on the hot hood. Shaken, I backed away quickly, my steps slipping out from under me as my legs turned to rubber. The music playing on my Nikepod (my word for a Nike PSA, stolen from a man who told his son that that’s what the device I was wearing was, when the kid asked if it was an iPod) seemed to come rushing back all at once, and I blacked out for a few seconds.

I blacked out running though, and although I don’t remember getting through the rest of the intersection and onto the opposite sidewalk, I got there somehow. I do remember falling over on the sidewalk, my legs falling under me and then getting up, feeling stupid and weak, dragging my liquidy legs over to a couple of 4x4s surrounding a tree on the sidewalk, sitting there, the music rushing around my head, completely unable to stop shaking or crying. I finally got it together enough to start home again, and as I started to run again, the familiar pace and footfalls brought me straight back to the near miss. I started to cry again, and the rest of the way home went like that…run a bit, cry, walk, run a bit, cry, walk. I was a mess.

I hope this doesn’t continue to haunt me but it sure scared the hell out of me. That’s all for now; I need to go to bed…

Monday, June 05, 2006

The B360 and the Joy of Cross-Training

Contrary to perhaps popular belief, one doesn't ready herself for a marathon by running all the time. First of all, you increase your chances of injury and second of all, it's about as exciting as watching grass grow, running 6-7 days a week. I try to schedule at least a day of cross-training each week to mix things up a bit and give my body a rest from running, which is a brutally high-impact workout. Today, I decided, after assessing the feelings in my knees and Achilles tendons (which have, oddly, been acting up a bit), would be a good day to go cycling.

Cycling in Boulder. Three little words that fit together rather perfectly. Given the generally mild winters, perfect spring and fall and usually warm-to-hot summer weather, it’s easy to see why the town is Mecca for world-class cyclists and triathletes. Being a commuter whose sole transport is my bicycle, I greatly appreciate this, as well as the fact that, given the town’s general trend towards wholesome, healthy, outdoorsiness, Boulder boasts an incredible network of bike paths, both unpaved and paved, bike lanes in almost every road, and a usually fairly bicycle-friendly vehicular community. People in this town who’ve lived here for more than a few months are quite used to stopping in the middle of the street to allow pedestrians to cross. It’s just what you do.

Sadly, I’ve not been a very good “cyclist” per se. That is, I have been riding my bicycle around this town for years and have stuck mostly to the bike lanes and roadways rather than the paths. I have little idea where these paths are and even less of an idea where they lead to. As I am a person who’s usually—unfortunately—in a hurry to get to where I am going, I don’t generally ride random bikeways to see where they lead to. While I pride myself on my sense of navigation (okay Gregory, I know I’m going to hear about this from you) I know that after a few turns onto connecting paths I’d be hopelessly, utterly lost.

So when I found out about the B360 and B180 bike tours that were to take place today as part of Boulder’s celebration of Bike Month, I figured it’d be a good way to determine where at least some of the trails go. The B360 is a 19-mile (actually, 21-mile, as a newfound friend’s bike computer reported) loop starting and ending at one of the town parks that threads all over Boulder. The B180 is a 14-mile loop that does the same thing. I packed a bag, filled my Camelbak, slathered on sunscreen and took off on my awesome Bianchi cruiser. Upon arriving at the park I registered for the 360 and, shortly thereafter, took off amidst the crowds of families with kids on tandem bikes, attachments, kiddie bikes, cruisers and trailers, and the rest of the cyclists: the real cyclists who are decked out in head-to-toe Pearl Izumi gear, Oakley/Smith/whatever the flavor of the week is sunglasses, helmets and $4000 - $5000 roadbikes; the cruisers (a small contingent of the regular Thursday evening cruiser ride, complete with blaring sound system); and the posers, who were decked out in the same gear as the real cyclists but weren’t in anywhere near as good shape or rode anywhere near as fast as the real cyclists. Wannabes, I guess.

I learned a couple of things on the ride today:

1. Boulder is NOT a cycling democracy. There’s a hierarchy that has been established and carefully guarded here, and you know your place really quickly. At the top are the real cyclists, who don’t care enough about what anyone else is doing; they’re out for their own ride and don’t pay attention to you as long as you stay out of their way. Next are the mountain bikers and cyclist commuters, people who ride daily or often and/or spend significant amounts of their free time seeking out new trails and riding them. Next are the posers, and last are the families. The cruisers round out the bottom but mostly because they are usually inebriated and often, quite loud as well. The posers think they are up with the real cyclists but they haven’t attained the speed, endurance, or shapeliness of calves that the real cyclists have, so they’re just bitter when you pass them. Especially if you’re on a cruiser. I got a lot of dirty looks today, an unexpected and rather surprising occurrence, considering this event was billed as non-competitive and wholesome fun. I wanted to say, hey man, don’t get pissed at me, get your ass out on your bike more often, but by the time I’d have gotten all that out I would be wayyy too far ahead of them for them to hear me.

2. People are just stupid sometimes, and you have to live with that. Despite the fact that this city, for its size, probably boasts a more intelligent, intellectually-based population than other cities, there are a few morons who you just have to put up with. There were the couple on the tandem bike, who after announcing they were passing me and assuming a place in front of me, slowed down considerably, forcing me to pass them only moments later. There was the father of some sizable family, three or four little kids, who decided a good place to stop was the pickup to a path that was only as wide as his bicycle and trailer and therefore, stopped the flow of cycling traffic altogether. There were the students tubing in the creek who thought it best to, instead of lounging on the soft grass under the shady trees along the creek path, stand in the middle of the bike path instead. When my friend Mike clipped a woman who we thought was moving out of the way with his rearview mirror, I was neither surprised nor apologetic (yes, I get apologetic about my friend’s screwups). Rather, I was wondering what on earth they were thinking wandering about the bike path while hundreds of cyclists per hour whizzed by from every direction. And we were going slowly! And, while I greatly appreciate GOBoulder’s organization and support of this event, there was the idiot raffling off prizes who kept putting the tickets that went unclaimed back into the pot, therefore lengthening the raffling process by about fourfold.

3. Life sometimes surprises you nicely, and when you least expect it. I was heading up around 28th Street minding my own business, when a man on another cruiser pulled up beside me. We joked a bit and I eventually pulled off my headphones and stuck them in my bike basket, and we chatted for pretty much the rest of the ride, though he had to slow considerably a few times to allow me to catch up to him. Looking at his legs I immediately discerned why: he sported the cut-muscle calves and perfectly toned thighs of a real cyclist. We spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out & getting to know each other, and eventually exchanged numbers to get together for a ride or hike sometime. I can’t keep up with him to save my life on a serious ride, but it will be fun to have someone around town to ride or head to the hills with for a good hike or the like. Making new friends is never a bad thing.

4. Boulder…is…so…beautiful. Riding around all of these trails and paths I’d never been on, heading up around Wonderland Lake and down in south Boulder by the Mesa Trail that I run on occasionally, discovering all of these cool little paths and places I want to return to, once again rejuvenated my love for this town. It’s expensive, it’s weird, it’s politically absurd and it’s full of crazy people, but man, do I love this place. What a fantastic day. What a beautiful ride. What an amazing part of the world I live in! I am so blessed!

5. Anytime Glacier sponsors an event, I need to go. Because that means I get Glacier at the event. Especially when it’s free!!!

I did have an awesome ride. I passed a lot of people and managed to maintain a good clip for the whole ride. Mike said something about riding at 23 miles an hour but I think he was either joking or we were downhilling at the time. Regardless, when I started, I was concerned, having gone out at a relatively fast pace, roughly equal to my commuting speed (which I believe hovers between 12 and 18 miles per hour) thinking I maybe overdid it at the start and would therefore have some trouble finishing i.e. come in quite slowly or would end up bonking in the middle and be unable to finish the ride at all. But maintaining a pretty good speed I actually did quite well for nineteen miles (or 21...). Since I don't generally do any lengthy rides it was nice to get out and know I am capable of riding 20 miles, within a relatively short timeframe, maintaining a pretty decent pace. I CANNOT become a cyclist, however. Too expensive, too many snobs and too much weird clothing to have to purchase. I remain fiercely devoted to my 22-lb. Bianchi Milano, the celeste-green "Cafe Racer" and (in my opinion) queen of cruisers everywhere.

So that’s all for now; my hamstrings and quads are tired and my bad knee hurts a bit, but overall an excellent bout of exercise, a good ride, a beautiful day, a new friend, and ice cream at the finish. Life doesn’t get much better than this!