Getting Fitted

Yesterday started off with a "Power Yoga" class.  OMG, I didn't know whether I'd make it to the end of the class.  I wore a cotton sleeveless workout shirt, and it was almost completely soaked with sweat by the end of the class.  Even when I work out on the elliptical at the gym, I don't sweat that much.  Anyone who thinks Yoga is for sissies obviously has never been to a class.  Next time, I will know to bring a water bottle, wear a nylon shirt and bring my headband.

My hamstrings, meanwhile, are still recovering my our ride on Wednesday.  We didn't get one in on Thursday, and it rained yesterday.  I have the Quads today, so we're shooting for tomorrow morning for our next ride.

I went in yesterday afternoon to have Mark's old bike fitted to me.  It will be money well spent.  I had never heard of having a bike "fitted" of course, since I know next to nothing about cycling.  Patrick, who was doing the fitting, put the bike up on a platform, then proceeded to affix colored dots to various parts of my foot, ankle and hip.

Then, using the camera that is visible in the lead photo above, he shot images of how I rode on the bike, which were then transmitted to a computer, also visible in the photo. 

He didn't need the camera, however, to see that the saddle was too high for me.  Mark had already lowered it when we first started riding, but it was still too high.

Patrick then had me grip the handle bars in three places, in succession, while he filmed me.  He then took individual frames and analyzed the angles of my legs, back, etc.

The "Before" Picture

The result was illuminating.  The first thing Patrick did was to fine-tune the saddle height so that the angle made by my leg would be in the acceptable range.  He then showed me how I was tending to hold my foot at a downward angle, causing the pedal to be at an angle.  

The pedal, Patrick explained, should be kept as flat as possible; that way I would use more of my major muscles in my leg instead of my calf muscles.   Mark had explained that I should pedal like I was wiping my feet on a rug, but I hadn't completely understood the principle until Patrick explained it in this manner.

Once the saddle height was fixed, he turned to the handlebars.  The above image graphically illustrates what I had intuitively felt:  the position of the handlebars was wrong for me.  I had felt like I was too hunched over on the bike, that the stretch was too long for my arms and that my shoulder and neck positions were wrong - but I was and am new to cycling, so I didn't know any better. 

Patrick changed the stem (to which the handlebars attach) and put on a different handlebar, and these changes made all the difference.  The following image shows the "after" picture.  Much, much more comfortable.

Now, I'm looking forward to riding tomorrow to feel the difference!

Later that afternoon, I drove to Bountiful to pick up Nathan to go see "The Avengers."  He had called earlier in the day to tell me about his latest injuries.  He broke his clavicle in late March while playing frisbee at school.  Then a few weeks ago, he badly sprained his ankle.  

On Thursday, Nathan was on top of the garbage cans at the house which are right next to the low fence separating our property from that of the neighbor to the north, owned by the infamous Gary and Carla.  (Don't ask what he was doing on top of the garbage cans; he's 13.)  He lost his balance and fell, breaking off the tops of a couple of boards in the fence and landing on a pile of debris that Gary had piled next to the fence - stones, wire, etc.  In the result, Nathan had to once again be taken to Instacare.  He has bandages on his wrist and chest and abrasions on his legs.

Nathan and me on our way to see "The Avengers" yesterday.

Now, one would think that the neighbor might have shown concern for Nathan.  But not Gary.  Gary and Carla hate kids, and they hate ours in particular.  Example:  one time about two-three years ago, Gary came to the front door, visibly shaking with anger.  He told me my kids were throwing mud at his house and if they did it again, he'd call the police.  

I went out to the back yard and saw that Levi, 4, and Annie, 2, were playing in a bit of mud next to the fence that had been created by water leaking under the fence from Gary's fountain.  They had apparently, being kids, started throwing a bit of mud around, and some of it - perhaps the size of their tiny fists - must have gone over the fence and hit the side of Gary's house.  I couldn't help but laugh at the silliness of the situation, but sternly warned the children that Gary would call the police if they threw mud at his house again.

There were other incidents, equally silly.  We had to warn the children that they were not, under any circumstances, to go into Gary's back yard, e.g., in case their ball accidentally went over the fence into his yard.  They were to be careful to stay on the sidewalk when in front of their house and never step on their grass, etc.

Well, Gary called the police after Nathan fell, I supposed because he had damaged a couple of the boards in the fence.  The whole situation is beyond belief.  Among other things, the fence does not belong to him, and in the eleven years that the family has lived in that house, he has never done a thing to maintain the fence, whereas I have replaced rotting boards, stained the fence, etc.

I suppose there are people like Gary and Carla in every neighborhood.  Sigh.