What Would Lance Do?   2005-07-13

I love watching the Tour de France. It always fires me up. It inspires me to get up, get out, and push myself. For a month every year I fancy myself as an elite athlete. And every year: the usual results.

I can usually make it through a Tour incurring only a few minor injuries. If I'm feeling particularly fired up though, much worse results queue for a diagnosis. I've gone through a few rough Tours de Fancy. A couple of years ago I nearly went blind. I can't say unequivocally the Tour and the near blindness were causally related, but as sure as too much you know what causes blindness, I'm sure there was a relationship (Concerning the near blindness — every thing turned out for the best. Not only did I miss running a marathon (and thereby avoided a repeat of the epic three week post race seize up of 2001), I also managed to parlay it into some much needed credit at the UVic philosophy department).

I've never had a road bike (as an adult and since I started watching the Tour de France. I did have a 10-speed Peugeot with foam black / grey tiger stripe handle bar covers when I was younger with which I led a whisper thin peleton through Fish Creek), so cycling related injuries have never been an issue. Running related injuries, on the other hand, I'm not unacquainted with. When I'm inspired to get up, get out, and push myself, I invariably reach for my running shoes.

As a side note, on a recent trip back to Canada to celebrate my sister in law Margita's marriage to The Chief, Marlene and I made our first hers & hers purchase. I'd already broken his & hers ground with the purchase of a handsome set of Timex watches a few years ago with Margita, so the mutual rush of satisfaction isn't unfamiliar. Marlene and I have yet to follow suit when it comes to accessories. We have, however, embraced the hers & hers when it comes to sports (For future reference a woman's size 12 Asics Gel-DS Trainer^® VIII runner is equivalent in all but colour (orange piping) to a man's size 9.5 (red piping) of the same. After all, who can pass up a 2 for 1 sale on running shoes (Women's ONLY! NO exceptions!!) when both pairs are already 40% off?).

I haven't decided if I even like running; it's just something that comes naturally. I've been doing it ever since seeing the tail end of banana seat speed away from me down the back alley. Leaving me breathless and determined. To catch up. On foot. The problem is, and there is one, when I reach for my runners during the Tour I just don't know when to stop. After seeing Lance & Co. grinding away hour after hour, day after day I figure I should be able to do the same.

I get fired up!

Sure – he trains. Sure – his heart is 30% bigger than mine. Sure – he's the endurance king of the world. Sure.

But I get fired up!

So, with the usual results pending, I reached for my runners the other day after watching Lance power his way over the Alps. This time, I convinced Marlene (against her better judgment) to get up, lace up, and get out too. I was inspired. This was our first run since arriving in Japan. We'd scouted the river pathway on bike already so we knew we were in for a good run: good scenery and no cars = perfect running conditions. Well, the conditions could hardly have been less perfect.

It was 3:00pm and it was H-O-T. We were in the middle of an unusually hot period for the beginning of July (I understand it's usually quite cool at this time of year (20 - 25^oC) with scattered showers throughout the day). It was over 30^oC and humid, humid, humid. Just sitting motionless inside we were covered in a clammy sheen of sweat.

Having never run in temperatures and humidity like this before — Team Klassen - I don't know how you managed to train on Rota. I salute you! — we didn't foresee the hot, wet, wool blanket waiting to smother us outside. After ten very long minutes of panting and listening to our lungs bang around in our chests we slowed to a walk. Our legs were weak. Our eyes were stinging. Our breath was short. We felt like we were climbing Mount St. Helens again.

We dragged ourselves home – the fire momentarily dowsed.

I think I may have pulled something on the run. I'm not sure what, but I have a nagging pain along the bottom of my right foot. It won't keep me down though. The Tour is only half done and I still have another two⁺ weeks of inspiration to get through.

But, what would Lance do?

Something tells me he would settle back on his couch, flick on his TV, and watch golf for the remainder of the month.




After the run. Never again until the next Tour.

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