Note to Miami Drivers:

I'm not saying Hello from my bike - I'm turning right.
You should know better than to think it would be a friendly gesture, we're not in Oregon.

(Although, I do understand turn signal sightings are somewhat foreign, more so than the elusive thing called "friendliness" - stop trying to kill me).

1600 Meters

My neighbor, when I was 6, was on the Olympic Swim Team. My mother convinced this young man to come over to our house and work on the swimming skills of my older brothers' and I. Mostly what I remember is that he made me do too many laps and I had to choose which side I was going to breathe on. He doesn't get swimming, I thought. He only enjoys going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Where is the joy in that?

Years later, long after swimmers started being taught to breathe on both sides, long after I could no longer could amuse myself for hours on end in the shallow end, and months after gaining the equivalent of a 6th grader while pregnant, I returned to swimming laps.

It took me a dozens of sessions a la snorkel & mask to relearn breathing both left and right while making my heart pump (although I never really got used to the looks at the gym). And it took applying my knowledge of Jeff Galloway's training method to convince myself I could cross the pool multiple times without drowning. A couple birthdays later when I started training for the sprint triathlons this summer, I was still pretty uneasy in the pool. I look forward to my runs, I enjoy taking my bike out, but going to the pool always seemed like homework.

But last week, it clicked. The runner's high morphed into the swimmer's high. Three months ago, I committed to defining a swim workout as a total of 1600 meters, roughly a mile. And twice a week, more or less, I've been plugging through, 100 meters of Freestyle, 100 meters of Breast Stroke (I think of it as Break Stroke, since I can catch my breath), followed by a 30 second break. Last week, by the time I was half a mile through, I was craving more - like the water was a drum and my arms were pounding out a jungle rhythm - Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba. I didn't want to stop, I could hear the song and needed to continue. I dropped the Break Strokes and replaced them with Freestyle. Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba. This is all at a stark contrast to what my swim usually is: Oh, dear god, I have 2 more laps before I get a break. Not last week. No, I understood my old coach's back and forth, back and forth.

Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba
Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba
Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba
Bom Bah, Bom-Bom Ba

I have to go swim......

Show You Care

Did sending a check to the victims in Phuket leave you feeling a little empty? Did you feel like something was missing after collecting 47 cans of corn beef hash for the Khao Lak kids?
Perhaps not enough people knew you took the time to be anonymous. Now, show you care by showing off your Tsunami Merit Badge. Ahh, getting credit really does feel good.

Last Carrot Robbed

Someone broke into the Last Carrot (aptly named, perhaps, for it's status as a unique Grove restaurant) last night. They busted a window in the door but couldn't manage to open the cash register. As a backup plan, they stole the register...not knowing it was empty.
Stores aren't foolish enough to not hide their money in a safe. Bummer they didn't they hit a corporation who has the finances to deal with idiots like them.

No respect for the Towniespeople

I reside in Miami, in an area not yet devoured by highrises, but deep enough that the Postman and the Taxman agree it's urban. Though the locals comprehend bicycling for transportation as poorly as they do vegetarianism ("No, la sopa no tiene carne" "Isn't it made with chicken stock?" "Si"), I still attempt to do all my errands within a 3 mile radius a la Cruiser.

This Death Gauntlet has brought me a bit of self confidence while riding. If I can survive these unfit and abusive drivers, I believe I can take on tougher challenges. So I set forth this summer to hit the Sprint Triathlon series on the Key.

There, folks were decked out in their onsie Zoot suits, helmets shaped like melted gum drops, and high tech bikes whose one wheel cost more than my entire collection of stuff. Enter Crumbs stage right: Baby Blue Townie, with a rack to put my child's seat, big fat round mirror on the handlebar, and of course, a bell. Just out of curiosity, earlier that morning I held it on the scale: 35 pounds. I rode it in, back straight as a chair, legs comfortably forward in proper cruising position. They chuckled, so I thought I'd play along and ring my bell. Amusement morphed into pity. "Good Luck on the bridge" - I heard someone say.

Now, when people enter races with hundreds of people in it, how many think they are actually going to win? I mean, if you are one boasting 3% bodyfat, perhaps, but really, most of us enter to beat our best time, or go a distance we've never gone before. We go to socialize with other sportsmen and as an excuse to guiltlessly order a full stack of blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup afterward. We go to push our physical limits.

So, I take my 6 1/2 foot long bike and rack it alongside the 13 ounce jewels. I may not be able to keep up with the road bikes, but I'm doing the same course they are in decent time...only dragging 30 more pounds up the hills without the benefit of clips or aerodynamic positioning. I'm holding on to handlebars as wide as their wheels and riding tires fat enough to hide a dollar bill if I rode over it. There was never a moment I put any other riders in danger with my wide load.

I reached my goal: I improved my time, I competed as a Triathlete for the first time, I earned a little respect from a couple sportsmen who could appreciate my challenge.
So, ride on all you who ride for the joy and excitement, and nevermind the blockheads who think only fancy equipment makes you an athlete. In fact, I challenge ALL racers to have a go at the hills and bridges with a Cruiser. You just might feel more accomplished afterward. And the pancakes might taste better, too.

Favorite Signs around Coconut Grove

Click on photos to enlarge them:

Magnetic sign on a car "Maroone is the master of the bait and switch"

"Slow for Turtles"

"No Basura..."

Sculptasaurus

Handpainted 20MPH sign

"Champion Runner's Dashboard Shrine"

Note to Self (as if they all aren't):

On Wednesday, August 22 I will test out number 66 of my 101 in 1001 , the Juice Fast.
I'm scared because I'll forgo my ritual morning coffee, something I've done only a couple times before. A few times when I was homeless in Utrecht and for the 9 months of my pregnancy. Both vastly different times, I couldn't contain my misery. Of course, both situations were uncomfortable in their own right and perhaps I'm unsure what truly triggered my sickness...but I'm pretty convinced I was victim of withdraw.
I'm also partially nauseated by the memory of cucumber/fennel/ celery juice experienced just today. Whew, but I'm going for a full day of juice tomorrow, as a first step. I'll see if this is when I take it 3 days in a row.
Really, the rewards from juicing: are less encouraging.

There are certain side effects that you may encounter when you commence your juice fast... can include headaches, nausea and dizziness as the blood receives waste toxins from your cells. You may also experience bad breath and a ‘furry’ tongue as the body attempts to expel toxins through the throat and mouth.

Update on Wednesday at 6:43. Late for a dentist appointment, I jumped out of bed and headed out the door immediately to get my tooth drilled & filled. Drooling, I raced across town to my next appointment, no chance to feed my body. At 1pm, I FINALLY got a chance to eat....well, drink. Seemingly all at the same time, my body realized it was starving, there wasn't a drop of caffeine and the tooth numbing agent had worn off. Today sucks...but I guess a good time to fast since I can't chew anyhow. Still can't contain my misery (poor family).