Well, it's that time of year again.. Time to turn over a new leaf. So here are my New Year's resolutions, at least the ones involving biking:
Nutrition
The Donohue Doughnut Diet has stood me in good stead lo these many years, but it really is time to clean up my act. I'm going to start eating more healthily, maybe even try a Power Bar. Maybe with a side of fries and onion rings.
Dress In fashion
I've found over the years that the only people that approve of my ensemble are Mike Hanauer and Eric Ferioli. This is not a good sign. So I'm going to forsake the Goodwill collection, and maybe buy actual biking gear. As soon as my collection of Nashbar sale jerseys, and retreaded shorts wear out.
Fight the Call of Testosterone
I'm really getting too old to be chasing twenty year olds down Mass Avenue. I've managed to be passed by road bikes without shifting into warp, but I still consider that it casts shame on the House of Donohue to be passed by a mountain bike. I will endeavor to hold myself in check, and gracefully allow myself to be passed. As long as they're not wearing sneakers.
Use the small chainring
When I ride the tandem, stoker Susan serves as a sort of Jiminy Cricket. She whispers sweet nothings in my ear to the effect that if I don't downshift soon, I may require plastic surgery shortly. But when I'm on my own I have a tendency to grind away, even though I know in my heart I should "spin, spin, spin." This will the year for high rpms. Maybe get up to 70.
Crosstrain
You've got to realize that my idea of crosstraining is mountain biking. I admit I do sink into cross country skiing when there's too much snow even for mountain bikes, but I always whimper loudly. So I am going to try to face the prospect of zero road mile days with a zen attitude. Nay, I will even embrace activities that don't involve two wheels and a saddle. Yes, I'm going to become a Renaissance man (actually I'd settle for an upgrade from Neanderthal to Cro-Magnon). Maybe I'll buy a wind trainer.
Practice Truth in Advertising
The "longer, faster, harder" crowd (of which I'm a charter member) doesn't really care if we ride twice as far as billed, and watch the setting sun 20 miles from home. But many of my cycling comrades are not so complacent (or is it brain dead). In the old days, I was renowned for my fiascos, which involved not just biking, but backbacking, canoeing, and other sports where fatalities might occur. I would regularly turn a pleasant jaunt in the country into a death march. But no more. Just call me honest Jack. No more gross minimization. At least no more than 50% (really).
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