My friends to the south (i.e. Minneapolis - you know who you are) often mock me for indoor training sessions, but man, sometimes it's just freakin' cold out. Now, I'm sure they would respond with all kinds of stats that suggest it's just as cold 150 miles south of me, but I gotta tell ya, when I head down there I'm expecting to see Palm trees. It just never seems as cold there as it is here by the big Gitchi Gummi (that's Lake Superior to non mid-westerners).
As I did final preps in my garage before my morning commute I tried to brace myself. Mittens over jacket cuffs - check, blinker on helmet blinking - check, blinker on bike blinking - check, head lights on - check, air in tires - check, good song on ipod - check. O.k., let's DO THIS!
I lift the garage door to a dark neighborhood, push the bike out into the drive way, turn and slam the garage door. One shove, a leg over and I'm rolling past my car and into the street. It's when I take the first inhale that I feel as if I'm in a vacuum, space if you will. Wait! I know my body just performed the necessary actions required for a breath of air, but my lungs seem to have suctioned in on themselves. Again, I go for the valuable oxygen and yes, a little bit seems to be coming in. The air actually is holding the precious molecule. Soon enough I'm able to pull in satisfactory amounts of the good stuff.
I must say, the first breath of the morning in Duluth sometimes has me wondering if this is what it's like to try to breath in space.
P.S. Good luck to my training partners up in the "ice box" of America competing in the Arrowhead 135. Definitely some hard guy stuff. I think those guys probably can breath in space.
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