It has now been a full couple of weeks since I have ridden my bike outside. I have been convalescing as my lower back regains its strength. Progress is steady and in fact, I am contemplating riding outside tomorrow. I am cautiously optimistic.
But the gist of this blog is to identify two unforeseen consequences of being grounded for a couple of weeks. I knew that I would feel a bit depressed, and I knew that I would miss the bike terribly. But who knew that I would become a fat apathetic slob.
Everyone knows that exercise gets the blood flowing and with the surge of endorphins that comes along with it, the person experiences a high for the rest of the day. Since I have been denied my commute, I have suffered a terrible withdrawal from these good natural drugs. I am surprised that my hands are not shaking and that I not in a detox centre, strapped to a bed as I suffer through the cold sweats.
Instead, I am sitting comfortably on the couch downstairs at 8 p.m., ready to watch TV for the night, and I am confronted with an absolute feast. Ordinarily, I restrict myself to a peanut butter and honey sandwich and one (and only one) Lindor chocolate. But since I have been in a bit of depression, and my wife is well aware of this, these restrictions have been eradicated and my plate overfloweth. In addition to the above items, my nighttime diet has included a couple fistfuls of popcorn, a mandarin orange, and if I have been a good boy, then I get an ice cream sandwich.
This usually puts me at risk of my GERD acting up, the acid bursting through my sphincter (I love using that word!) and erupting into my esophagus and wreaking havoc, but this has not happened. And so I have seen this as a green light and I am now eating twice as much food as I usually do at night, on a regular basis. It really does make me feel better while eating it – so I guess I am a depressed eater – but as we all know, when this excess continues for too long, then the body begins to be affected.
I can feel my waistline expanding from the gluttony, and this is starting to make me feel worse. I have biked all year long, exercising intensely for much of it, and I have earned a lean athletic body. It just does not seem fair that a couple of weeks of respite (no matter how misdirected) could nullify all of the positive effects of sustained biking. My pants are a little tighter, I can feel a bit of a bulge when I lean over on the stationary bike, and my mood is becoming more depressed. This is just not fair!!!
But in addition to this, I have been really, really tired in the evenings. Despite not riding to and from school, and despite having a student teacher doing half of my classes, I come home at the end of the day like I had just completed a marathon. After supper and some recreation on the iPad, I turn into a zombie and I am in desperate need of a nap. And after the nap is done, I wake up exhausted and it takes me like 15 minutes to recover and be able to rise from my Ikea chair.
But the thing is, I don’t really recover from the nap. The tiredness is so deepset that I am completely unable to do any tasks afterward. I usually write my blog in the early evening, fresh from my nap, but lately I have absolutely no energy to do it. Last night, I turned on my computer at 7 p.m. and then I spent 10 full minutes simply staring at the screen, doing absolutely nothing. I didn’t even have the energy to click on WordPress. It has gotten so bad that I have resorted to writing my blogs at my place of work. I am not kidding. I am in fact writing this blog at school right now, during one of my spares.
I am stricken by sloth and I don’t even recognize myself as a result. I typically identify myself as a hard worker and usually tireless. I have been compared to a greyhound dog, fast and with great endurance, but lately, this dog is suffering from arthritis and is sleeping all day in its dog bed! It turns out that part of the reason for my eternal energy is because I bike and exercise regularly. But when those are taken away, I become apathetic and listless and I begin to despise myself.
I really need to get back on that bike. I need to be cleansed from these two deadly sins of gluttony and sloth, and this will only happen by being bathed in the sweat that comes from extended cycling.
Recently I suffered a back injury, and it took a full week for me to start showing signs of recovery. Today, I was given a clean bill of health (from my wife) and I was given the okay to ride the stationary bike. This has been such an exciting reunion for me that I wanted you to share it with me. So, if you have a few hours to spare, put on your Lycra shorts, strap on your cycling shoes, and join me.
After doing schoolwork until 10 a.m., I promptly turn off the computer and race upstairs (well, more an enthusiastic jog, since my back is in a tender stage of healing) to get my stuff. I then return to my downstairs office and approach the stationary bike that I have neglected for such a long time (well, about a week, but who’s counting). It is a Lemond stationary bike, and I purchased it because it used a simple leather pad for resistance (as opposed to magnets) and it had no computer, which I figured would make it easier for me to do maintenance on it in the future. My reasoning proved sound, since I have owned this thing for many years now, and all I have had to replace is the bottom bracket (under warranty).
What is particularly awesome about my office – apart from the fact that I store many of my bikes in it, which makes for beautiful and functional art – is that it has a chest high ledge that runs around two walls of the room. The stationary bike is placed at the for corner of my office, where both ledges converge, and so there are many locations for me to place the key things I need for a long ride. I place my water bottle, two small towels (for sweat), a banana and a peanut butter and honey sandwich on the ledge to my right, and then I turn on the lamp and the small fan that are nestled right in the corner.
My cycling shoes are located in a different corner of my office, right in front of my main bookshelf. I got these shoes when I did some work on a guy’s bike – a really huge guy, by the way, who looked like he could arm curl me and his bike at the same time – and he told me that he happened to have some ancient (think, 1990’s) top-of-the-line Specialized mountain bike shoes. He wasn’t using them anymore and he wondered if I would be interested in having them. The odds were against us having the same size of feet, but miraculously, we did. So, I bought them off of him for what amounted to $20, and given that they were as good as new, it was an amazing deal!
Putting these shoes on takes a bit of effort. They have Velcro straps on the outside, which are easy enough, but the interior of the shoe is covered in a socklike membrane. I have to grip the protruding edge of this sleeve with both hands, and then slide my foot into its gullet until the foot is fully encapsulated. The sleeve has its own laces, which when pulled (using a unique drawstring) cause the membrane to snug right up to the ankle for a secure fit. Then, and only then, are the Velcro straps affixed and the shoes ready to go. Honestly, the shoes are kind of overkill for a stationary bike ride, since they would be more at home on the gravel or on singletrack, but they are so aggressive and are coloured a sexy black with red highlights, so they put me in the right mood for a sufferfest.
I then return to the bike and do some preride lubing. The leather resistance pad in the stationary bike cannot be allowed to dry out, and so at the beginning of each ride, I add a few drops of 3-in-1 oil to the heavy metal flywheel. It feels like I am giving a libation to the cycling gods, praying for a smooth ride. And so far, it has been successful, since the bike has remained in good shape and served me well.
Finally, with all my rituals completed, I finally mount the bike and place my iPad on the two narrow central bars, which form a nice base of support for the device (which was another reason that I bought it). The bars are actually supposed to be used so a rider can assume the aerodynamic position one would use when riding a triathlon bike or doing a time trial, but at my age and with my stiff joints, I do not have the flexibility to assume that position comfortably. So, instead, I use it as a platform for my iPad, and it provides an ideal height and angle for me to see the screen clearly while I am pedalling.
Even though my rides are usually between 2.5 and 3 hours long, I like to set the iPad timer in 1 hour installments. In this way, whenever the beeper sounds, it means it is time for me to eat some food. The banana is eaten after the first hour, and the sandwich is eaten after the second hour. This actually replicates what I do when I go for a road ride, and I know from experience that you do not want to mess with the eating routine. Once you find one that works well with the body, providing sufficient energy and not causing any kind of gastrointestinal distress, then you should stick with it and never deviate from it.
I start pedaling lightly, and while doing so, I select my music for the ride. In the past, I would usually choose some kind of EDM music, since it is rhythmical and upbeat and it encouraged me to keep pushing those pedals when my legs start to feel it. But lately, I have been listening religiously to the same few albums during my stationary rides. I start with “Dinosaur” from Theory of a Deadman, and then it is “So Much (for) Stardust” by Fall Out Boy, and finally, “It is the End of the World But It’s a Beautiful Day” by Thirty Seconds to Mars. I usually love to have variety when I am riding, but for some reason, I keep listening to these three albums first, and always in this particular order. It has come to the point that whenever I hear any songs from these albums elsewhere, I keep feeling like I should be riding my stationary bike. It is amazing how connected music is to our memories – much like the smell of baking from a person’s childhood, I guess.
With my headphones plugged in and the music pumping, it is time to keep my brain active during the ride. I know that many people who ride the stationary bike need to watch videos, whether it might be YouTube videos of other people riding or the Zwift cycling simulations, where you can watch a virtual bike respond to what you are doing on your bike as you navigate a virtual road course. But for me, I need to read magazines. It turns out that when I read articles, not only am I getting educated and having my mind opened up to new ideas, I also get fully into the zone and lose track of the pain that I am going through during the ride. I get into a kind of educated flow state, where my mind is completely absorbed by the text and pictures that the iPad brilliantly illustrates for me.
I always read a science magazine first. The articles are more scholarly, which one might argue does not capture the imagination as much and allow for a perfect mental flow state, but since it is early on in the ride, I am not as much in need of being distracted. No pain has developed yet, and so it feels like I am simply reading in my Ikea chair – just in a more upright position and with my legs constantly moving. New Scientist is my favourite science magazine, since they include many articles that are related to physics, which is my passion area and it is what I teach in school. (Funnily enough, my mind has come to associate New Scientist with the album Dinosaur, since it is always playing while I read this magazine. And it gets especially ironic when I am reading an article about dinosaurs.)
When the first hour of riding is up, I am just finishing up the New Scientist magazine, reading the comic that is always located on its last page, when the beeper goes off. I ease off the tension by twisting the knob between my legs (yes, it writes as awkward as it sounds). I then sit upward, taking my hands off the bars, and I eat the banana. Bananas are high in potassium and if modern research still bears this out, it helps prevent cramping – not as much of an issue on the stationary bike, but super valuable when I am going on a long road ride in the middle of the summer. It is also a soft food, which means it digests very quickly.
I have always found it strange that cyclists can get away with eating while they are in the middle of a long bike ride. I was taught right from when I was a little brat that I was not to run around while I ate my lunch, but instead, I had to sit at the table. Otherwise, I would have a stomach ache, and considering that my young body was particularly prone to sharp stomach pains (I even had to go the hospital a couple of times to have it treated), this was a warning that I took seriously. But for some reason, when I am on a bike, I can be a complete rebel and I can shove food in my mouth even when my legs are screaming and I am panting from the exertion. And somehow, miraculously, no stomach ache appears and I can continue to torture my body for many additional hours. Yay?
With the banana finished, I return to my iPad, start up my next hour on the timer, and open up a new magazine. My body is starting to feel the exertion now, and it will only get worse as the minutes pass by. So, I need a magazine that can both inspire me and that can take my mind away from the developing agony in my legs. That means it is time for the cycling magazine.
If I am lucky, the Canadian Cycling Magazine will be available. This magazine is packed full of cycling porn, showing the sexiest of bikes and the best of Canadian riders, which gets my heart racing and has me wanting to ride as hard as possible. But it also is filled with sage training advice, excellent humour-based articles, technical critiques of bikes and associated equipment, and fascinating stories of wondrous bike trips around Canada, and sometimes the world. Every page is one to savour, and I read every word and analyze every picture like it is some holy text, showing me the way to cycling paradise.
But if this publication is not available, since it comes only every two months, then there is Cycling Weekly that hails from Britain, and Bicycling from the U.S. And if I am desperate, I will seek out a mountain bike magazine, but those tend to be far more product and glitz and less story. I am so thankful for the Libby app, which gives me quick access to magazines from the public library and satisfies my desperate need for literature to while away the hours on the stationary bike.
Before I know it, the beeper sounds again to signal that I have completed 2 hours of my ride and it is time for my next meal. From a small plastic bag, I extract my favourite food of all: the simple but magical peanut butter and honey sandwich. It is packed with natural sugars, to give me a quick hit of energy and propel me through the last stage of the ride. But it also has plenty of protein, which is needed by my exercise-damaged leg muscles and which will sustain me for my prolonged exertion. And it tastes so good!!! I am transported to a gustatory nirvana and as I savour its inimitable flavour, I cherish each deep breath I am taking and I am thankful for just being alive. Yes, that is how much I enjoy eating my sandwich? Isn’t it the same for you when you eat your favourite food?
Then it is time for the final phase of my stationary journey (a strange oxymoron). I set the clock for 30 minutes, or if I am feeling energetic and motivated, I will do another hour. Things now get a bit more serious, since I will be taxing my body to its limits. I read any magazine that is available now, and I do my best to become fully invested in its passages, but the painful sensations are beginning to encroach and make themselves known.
My seat bones begin to get sore, and when the burning begins to take away from my performance, I stand up on the pedals and do a couple of minutes of high intensity interval work. It is good for my legs to shake them up a bit, and it is certainly a different way to tax my cardiovascular system (not to mention training me for the steep hills I will be seeing in the spring and summer when I go for my mountain bike rides), but most importantly, it is a blessed relief for my buttocks. My legs might start burning in this new position, and my breathing rate might elevate until I am gasping, but it still feels like a bit of a break, since my seat bones have stopped screaming at me. When I return to the seat, I feel refreshed and ready for the upcoming challenges.
As time goes by, I stand up on the pedals at a greater and greater frequency. And while I am bouncing back and forth, mashing those pedals and keeping my simulated momentum alive, I tend to look at the painting that is in front of me and on my left. It is a picture of cyclists racing in a pack, and the word “PERSEVERANCE” is written on it in big letters. Underneath this word is the phrase “It is to the one who endures that that the final victory comes.” It is the perfect image and motivational speech all wrapped up in one painting, and it keeps me straining and striving for the remaining interminable minutes.
And then it is done. The blessed beeping sounds and I smile in the knowledge that I have finished my training for the day. I turn down the tension and I lightly spin the pedals, anticipating the lunch that is soon to come and the wonderful rest that will follow. The meal and the relaxation will be all the more sweet since they have been earned from my few hours of masochistic training.
Well, thank you dear reader for joining me. I am usually a solitary rider, more comfortable setting my own pace and choosing my own path, but it has been nice to have someone with me this time. Who knows? Maybe I will see you out on the road or on the trail sometime this year and we can do this again. Until then, keep on biking!!
After lunch, I was getting my classroom desk organized when I noticed that something was missing. To my utter horror, I realized that my attendance seating plans were absent.
These critical pieces of paper had the names of all the students who attend my classes, and they also identify where the students sit in the room. This system is a vital part of my teaching process, since it streamlines the attendance process. Instead of calling out their names and waiting for them to respond, which can take up precious minutes (especially when the other students begin to talk, requiring me to shout the names repeatedly), I merely have to check which desks are missing students and after cross-referencing with my seating plans, I can quickly identify who is absent. And what makes it particularly efficient is that I can do this process while they are working on a problem or discussing an issue, which means that no time is lost at all.
And it was missing from my desk!
As quick as a flicked switch, I went from namaste peace to apocalyptic panic. I searched every nook and cranny of my desk, leaving no stapler unturned, and I rifled through every folder and drawer. But it was nowhere to be found.
I raced over to my other filing cabinet and I got out my magnifying glass, peering into every crevice and investigating every file that came my way. Nothing.
Then, with all self-respect lost (maybe it was located in the same location as my seating plans), I then rummaged through the garbage can, scanning all pieces of paper – after scraping off banana peels and other organic material, of course. But to my shock, it was nowhere to be found.
I was an absolute wreck by this time. I wanted to call in the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (admittedly, I had to look this up – it is the Canadian version of the FBI), the local police, the RCMP, the firefighters, and my school administration. I wanted to demand a forensic analysis of my classroom scene, where they could gather fingerprints and identify any foreign substances that might suggest a possible perpetrator. I was aware that my own personal investigation likely tampered with much of the evidence, but there was still hope, right?
In the end, I was completely unsuccessful in my search and I had to go home in failure. It is a wonder that I got any sleep that night, so terrible was this educational tragedy.
When I returned to school, I had renewed optimism and I was bursting with energy. I also had new ideas. There was one place I did not check. I had a box at the back of the room which contained any old assignments that students did not yet pick up. I had remembered that I had in fact deposited some homework into that box the day before, so there was a good chance.
When I opened that box and analyzed the first few documents, I finally discovered it. The seating plans!!!! Right there, nestled amongst many other papers, safely ensconced, was my Holy Grail.
I could have screamed out in delight!! It was the greatest moment of my life – well, apart from getting married, having children, riding my bikes … okay, it was in the top 100 anyways.
I brought it back to my desk, apologizing to it for my neglect and for indifferently tossing it into the unwanted bin. I vowed that I would be much more vigilant, treating it with the respect that it deserves. My mind was certainly absent, causing this unfortunate crisis, but this seating plan is my most cherished present.
Due to an injury to my back, I was forced to forego my bike ride and instead be driven to work. While I appreciate my wife’s willingness to chauffeur me, and as much as I enjoy our conversation on the journey, I discovered that this change of commute vehicle had a dramatic impact on my teaching.
In short, I was grumpy.
I like to think of myself as a pretty happy guy, and one who genuinely loves his profession. But on this morning, there was a dark cloud perpetually hanging over my head. When colleagues and students walked by me and offered me a good morning, my reply was a noncommittal grunt and possibly a glare. I was offended by their sunshiny demeanour, and the more they smiled, the more I wanted to punch them in the face.
Who was this mean-spirited individual? Was I possessed by a malcontent demon or the spirit of a vengeful former student? It would be convenient to blame this on some paranormal phenomenon, but the truth of the matter was that I was not in need of an exorcism, but rather, I was desperately in need of exercise.
The bike ride in to work is a great 40+ minute workout, and despite the fact that it can be demanding at times, I arrive at the school filled with endorphins. This supercharges my machine and as I realized this morning, I am highly dependent on this. It turns out that this infusion of natural dopamine fills me with life and light and energy and enthusiasm, and when I am denied it, I am sad and angry and listless and apathetic.
This back has to heal up soon. I am honestly a bit worried that if I have to be driven to work for much longer, I will snap at one of my students and do irreparable damage to my career.
I am dependent on the euphoria inducing substances that arise from the daily exertion that only my bike ride can offer. They are nothing short of performance enhancing drugs, and much like Lance, I am more than happy to have my daily dose to ensure a masterful performance in the classroom.
Recently, a colleague of mine mentioned to the science department that he admired my relentless pursuit of teaching perfection, as evinced by my neverending tendencies to modify (and hopefully upgrade) my practices. The description is most apt. Even though I have taught for well over 25 years, my pedagogy continues to evolve – sometimes in small, subtle ways, but all too often, the changes are radical and wholesale.
For most of my career, I have believed that this stubborn unwillingness to remain steadfast was due to two things: a sincere desire to teach my students in the best way possible, and a strong genetic predisposition towards workaholicism. But this weekend, I have come across a third reason, that relates much more to my mental health.
On Saturday morning, as I was preparing for my fat bike ride, I reached down to pick up my cycling shorts from the floor and I felt a serious twinge in my lower back. I shouted out my anger at this unfortunate development, since the conditions outside were absolutely perfect and I would be missing out on biking heaven. And for a few minutes, I deluded myself with the idea that these were momentary pains and that I could somehow walk them off in our basement area. But such was not to be. The pain not only persisted, but it actually elevated over time and it was quite clear that my riding was done for the weekend.
This really bummed me out. I had just hurt my back a couple of weeks before, and I was just starting to enjoy the feeling of good health. My core workouts were going well, and I was feeling quite strong. It just seemed so unfair that all of core work could be rendered futile by such a simple act as picking up my shorts from the floor. I could feel my mood spiraling downward fast. Depression was imminent.
Now, I have battled with depression for much of my adult life, so I am no stranger to my dark side. It was especially prominent in my life during the turbulent times of post-secondary. When I felt particularly down, I eagerly sought out any and all ways to make me feel better. I exercised like a madman, hoping that the endorphins would flood my system and wash away all traces of my depression. I read my favourite fantasy novels and movies, immersing myself in the remarkable experiences of others and vicariously experiencing a life of determination and ultimate glory. And all the while, I would listen to music that spoke to my dark mood, which usually meant a huge dose of Sarah McLaughlin.
And sure enough, I did these same things during this weekend, and they had some positive effect. But in the end, they were not successful in shaking me out of my depressed state. There is one key thing that they lack, one vital ingredient that is essential for true restoration of a positive spirit: hope.
So where did I get this most elusive of qualities? Strangely, it came from doing schoolwork on my computer. Strange, eh? But this statement must be qualified, for it was not just any kind of schoolwork.
Earlier in the weekend, I had been creating assignments, labs, and exams during my free time in the early morning hours. But when my depression hit, I abandoned all of those projects without a second thought. It was inconceivable to work on them when I was in such a sorry mental state.
Instead, I looked for a project that would inject hope into my life, and it turns out that this was provided nicely by tackling areas of my teaching practice that had failed this past semester. My mind naturally navigated itself towards my educational weaknesses, and it eagerly tackled the problems, striving to find solutions to them. And after many short walks away from my computer, required to keep my back from becoming totally seized up and in agony, I had some eureka moments that led to key pedagogical changes, changes that could transform the educational experience for my students and lead them to greater levels of success.
With those discoveries firmly entrenched in my mind, my eyes blazed in the light of positivity and optimism and I proceeded to revolutionize my lessons and resources, to make them more in accordance with this new philosophy. I have been at it ever since, spending a full two days modifying so much of my material and being delighted with the results. In effect, I cannot wait to teach this stuff again next year, because I am absolutely sure that it will lead to the best results I have ever achieved as a teacher.
Interestingly, despite the incessant pain in my lumbar region and my tragic lack of mobility, I have been very excited this weekend. And this positive mood has spilled over into my home, allowing me to be a better husband and father than would be the case if I was mired within the sloughs of despond. By solving problems in my teaching life, I became more at peace with the rest of my life. I have no answers to my weak lower back, but somehow, by taking charge of my educational issues, I did not feel helpless and hopeless.
And so, after reflecting upon this in my Ikea chair, I can safely conclude that many of the revisions I have made over my teaching career have been the result of a pursuit of hope. When students have performed poorly on my assessments or my lessons have had absolutely no impact, I have dived deeply into my teaching practice and looked for ways to improve, mostly because this would prevent me from going through a depression and allow me to be a more inspirational, encouraging teacher to my students.
And the persistence of these behaviours subtly indicates that depression is everpresent in my life, living just under the surface of my conscious thought. It is a shark lurking under the dark waters of my soul, just waiting for me to weaken and to surrender to the insistent pull of life’s gravity.
I wonder if my educational revisionist practices are recognized as legitimate solutions to avoid depression. All I know is that they truly work for me, and there are absolutely no drugs involved (well, apart from muscle relaxants, but they have no mood altering properties, as far as I know). If you happen to be a teacher, and especially one who often descends to the darkest of places when the classroom seems so bleak, then you might consider trying this alternative therapy.
At the end of one of my classes, a student came to my desk and gave me a gift. It was a relatively large rectangular box, beautifully wrapped in decorative paper of a distinctly Asian style. It was a gift to thank me for writing a reference letter, she explained, and it was from her culture.
I was overjoyed to receive such a gift, and after thanking her, I couldn’t wait to bring it home. My wife is Asian and she loves gifts, and I knew that bringing this to her would brighten her day.
The box did not add too much weight to my backpack, and so the bike ride home was a good one. It helped that the day had warmed up to a balmy 4 degrees, and that there was only a trace of wind. The roads and paths had most of the snow scraped from them, and so I was able to ride my hybrid bike today, which made for a fast and nearly effortless ride.
When I got home and my wife opened the door, she gave me a wonderful cup of hot chocolate and I returned the favour by showing her my gift. She shouted in delight and immediately took it from my hands and rushed upstairs to open it. I smiled at her response, and then I sampled the paradise of hot chocolate with whipped cream on the top.
As I sat on the cushioned stool we have in the foyer, I could hear her oohing and aahing as she beheld the Asian artistry of the packaging. She then went to get her phone, and immediately translated the text on the packaging (thank you, Google translate!). I had thought it was a box of chocolates, since that is a common teacher gift, but it turned out that it was a stationery set.
My hot chocolate was done, and I began the process of transferring all of my cycling gear to the basement area. While I did so, my wife removed the packaging and opened up the box. She was so excited about the contents that she immediately came downstairs to show me. Inside the box were 4 items, each decorated in gold and red, a clear celebration of Chinese New Year in my eyes. The items were a small book to write in, 2 beautiful bookmarks, and what appeared to be a pen.
When my wife brought the pen out, she tried to depress the top, hoping it was a button that would reveal the stylus. But nothing happened. So, she began to twist it, but in the process, she only managed to dismantle it …and with all the pieces in front of her, there was still no clear evidence of a pen nib.
Then the investigation truly began. She took the pen upstairs, and while I began to eat my dinner, she and my youngest son attempted to solve this most challenging puzzle. But no matter what they tried, the secrets of this pen were not to be revealed. My wife began to cycle between utter frustration and bullish determination, while my son tried his best to wrestle the pen from her grasp so that he could try out his ideas. It was passed between them, back and forth like a hot potato, but no matter what they tried, the pen’s inner workings remained a mystery.
Until my wife decided to do something decidedly charged with testosterone. She pulled both ends with great strength, and sure enough, the pen’s two halves came apart and her suspicions were confirmed. It was a simple fountain pen.
She came to me in triumph, showing me this beautiful writing utensil that was generously given to me by one of my students. I thanked her for solving the mystery, and for the wonderful entertainment that I received watching the process.
Now I am left with a quality writing instrument and blank paper. What will I write? Can I conjure forth ideas that are worthy of this stationery set? This gift comes with a challenge, and I wonder if I am gifted enough to prove myself worthy of it.
It is the plight of a bike commuter in the winter that there are at least 20 different items that need to be prepared in the morning before the bike can be ridden. And although I have done this for such a long time now, I still find that I tend to forget key items.
This forgetfulness is a real pain in the butt, since I am usually fully dressed … boots and all … when I discover it. Then, I am left with the choice: do I tromp through the house in my boots and risk dirtying up the floor, or do I call to my wife and ask her to help me out? (Notice that one of the options is not to take off the boots. Once they are on, nothing could compel me to take them off again!) Nine times out of ten it is the latter option, which must be absolutely exasperating for my wife. I am sure she is wondering how I could forget something when I perform these tasks day in and day out, for months on end.
I would like to blame it on my inflated intelligence. You know, like I am the absent-minded professor whose mind is so consumed by high-level problems that there is simply no room for such mundane things like making sure I bring my glove liners. But alas, I am just an average man with average intelligence (on good days), and my mind is actually fully focussed on the task at hand. I really am trying to remember all of the little details required for my commute, and when I forget one of them, I sadly have no excuse.
So, after suffering such mental lapses multiple times, I decided that I needed to come up with routines that are Phil-proof, sequences of action that flow logically and that would make it impossible for me to forget something.
The first routine is done in the bedroom. It is vital that I pack all of the clothing I will need for work and for my morning workout, because once I get to the school, I will never be able to come back and grab something. So, I have adopted the head and shoulders, knees and toes routine. No, I am serious. I point both fingers at my head, and then I work my way downward, making sure that I remember my work shirt, my underwear, and my socks. (I keep the pants at work, where they remain until the end of the year.) Then, I go back up to my head and work down again, but this time for my workout stuff. I visualize my workout shirt, my underwear, my socks, and a towel (yes, the towel does not relate to a body part, so it is the most likely to be forgotten). These are all then stored within a plastic bag and brought down to the front door, ready to be stored within my backpack.
The second routine occurs in the basement region of our house, where my bike shop and office happen to be. In my bike shop, I purposefully circumnavigate the room in a counterclockwise direction from the door and make sure I grab all the items in the order that I see them. On the hangers above the washer and dryer, I grab my winter cycling pants, my cycling shorts, my winter coat, and my neck gaiter. Then, I take the skull cap that is hanging from my vice, I take the glove liners hanging outside my glove box, and I pick up the cycling glasses that are on my shop desk. Then, I take my helmet and backpack down from the wall hooks, I grab my boots from the floor near the furnace, and finally, I bring down my mitts from the hooks behind the door. This is a complete counterclockwise sweep, and at the end of it, I need only grab my bike from the bike office and I am ready to go.
It is a bit shameful that I need to do such foolish routines in the morning, but in total honesty, it is a big relief to fall back on this. I find myself much more confident and relaxed when I have these procedures in place, procedures that do not rely on my faulty mind for their success.
Phil-proof, right?
Well, not so much. Although such routines have improved my success rate appreciably, they are as of yet not perfect. Every once in a while, I will still manage to screw it all up. How? Well, the method requires that I scrupulously examine each part of the bike shop as I move around in a counterclockwise direction, but there are times when I will do it mindlessly, and as such, I might completely glance over the glove box or the backpack storage area. Then, once again, I will be fully dressed for my ride and I will realize that I am gloveless and backpack-less. It is demoralizing!!!
But let’s face it. It is the best solution for my particular problem, and when I fail (which I will inevitably do), I can only resolve to do a better job on the next day and pay closer attention to the process. And really, what else can we ask of ourselves but to try to do better tomorrow?
Just like there is no bike lock that is truly invulnerable to thieves, there is no routine that I could develop that would be entirely Phil-proof, impervious to my periodically thoughtless nature. Well, except for one. If I gave this task to my wife, she would remember everything … every single time. But considering that she already does almost everything for me already, I think it is important that I continue to strive to do this alone. And be prepared to eat humble pie that next time I have to call her to grab the plastic bag that, although is properly filled with my work and gym clothes, is still sitting beside the bed, forgotten by me as I left the bedroom. I can already see her at the top of the stairs, shaking her head. Sorry, honey.
It happened just outside the science staffroom in my school.
I was walking toward the staffroom door, with my new student teacher in tow, when the door suddenly opened and out came one of our biology teachers. She waved and smiled at me, and then her eyes rested on the person standing beside me.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Oh, this is my new student teacher,” I answered.
“You have a student teacher?” she asked. Although she is Asian, her eyes were big round saucers. Turns out this has been the reaction from a lot of my colleagues. Strange.
I nodded, and I made the introductions. Then, when she was about to go, she said something to the student teacher that has haunted me ever since.
“Wow, good luck. He has very high standards.” And then she was gone.
I remember laughing a bit with my student teacher as we entered the science staffroom, and I think I made some minor quip to reduce the tension, but the statement resonated within me, and continues to do so to this day.
I mean, it is a bit of an ambiguous statement. It could very well be a compliment, for I know that she holds my teaching in high esteem. My colleague might have simply be implying that I would be an excellent mentor teacher who will teach many things, and that my student teacher was in this way quite fortunate.
But there was something about the way she said it that has me leaning towards the other possible interpretation. For that statement could just as easily be an indictment of me, proposing that I am an extremely demanding teacher who is very hard to please, and who will not be satisfied until my lofty ideals are met. In other words, my student teacher was likely facing one of the biggest challenges of her life and that she would have to do her utmost to receive my commendation.
My first thought was “What has she heard from the students?” Teachers are often in communication with their students, and at times, the students will start to discuss what happens in their other classes, under other teachers. I cannot help but wonder if my colleague shares some of my students, or some of my former students, and when she had dialogues with them (she is a very popular teacher with the students, so this would be inevitable), the kids might have told her horror stories about my exacting labs and demanding exams, and how my physics class was more of an ordeal than an education. High standards indeed.
So, as I biked home that day, my mind naturally meandered back to this situation and I began to look on my teaching style with fresh eyes, searching for areas where my strictness happened to be over the top and could potentially hurt my students.
I do not allow the use of cellphones in my class, and I enforce this consistently across all of my classes. This might seem oppressive, but I assure you that I strive to enforce this in a manner that is not antagonistic or paternalistic. When a student brings their phone out, I simply walk up to them and sitting down so that I am at eye level, I whisper to them that they need to turn it off and put it in their bag. Even if they engage in this behaviour repeatedly, I quietly tell them that they are required to stand out in the hallway (without their phone, of course) for a certain period of time. I do not berate them while they are out there, but instead, after the time period has elapsed, I merely open the door again and invite them back in. I assume that the message has been made clear and no additional words need be spoken. I cannot imagine this approach would be deemed dictatorial or even abusive in any way, and there is no doubt that it has led to a stronger, more cohesive group of students.
So what about my labs? They are timed events, which means that they must be completed in class time and handed in at the end of class. Further, they are not permitted to communicate group to group, nor can they look at their notes. But these are not arbitrary rules, created merely to torture my students. The rules, by their very nature, encourage proper preparation by the students before they come in to the lab, and the work that is produced during the lab is a clear reflection of their knowledge and abilities. No, this is not unnecessarily demanding, and for students who dedicate themselves to following these rules, their lab skills flourish.
And my exams? My major assessments tend to be quite long, requiring the full time period of a class for most students to complete, and they have been known to be difficult. But in my defense, the subject of physics is inherently challenging, and the level of my questions is, I believe, consistent with the expectations of the provincial curriculum. Further, my goal is not to prepare them for a diploma exam, but if I do my job properly, then they should be ready for the rigours and demands of a post-secondary education. In fact, if I made my exams too short and too easy, then I would be doing my students a disservice. I would not, and I cannot, change this approach to physics examinations.
So where does this leave me?
I think that this has been a good exercise for me. I was branded as a teacher with high standards, and this necessitated an honest reflection of my teaching practice and my expectations of the students. I am convinced that my approach is not only appropriate, but it is in fact essential for proper student education.
So I guess we are left with the first interpretation of my colleague’s comment. I think my high standards will be a boon for my student teacher’s development, helping her to reach her full potential while she is in my program. I will do my upmost to ensure that when she graduates from her education degree, she will be ready for any challenge that a new school could throw her way and that her students will feel blessed to have had her. This will only happen if I strive to surpass the high standards I have set for myself.
It took place in the middle of a trail called Coyote Corridor. This trail is part of a ravine near my house, and indeed, coyotes do in fact roam that trail from time to time, almost as if they know that this trail is named after them. But this story is not about an interaction with a wild creature.
Instead, it was when I met up with a group of 7 fat bike riders. They were flying down this trail, and I decided to stop and watch this beautiful parade of high quality bikes and winter tights. As the lead rider approached me, cresting a short punchy climb, he said to me, “Good day for spiked tires, eh?”
By reflex, I proudly shouted back at him, “I don’t use studded tires.”
I think he shouted something back at me, like “Are you a complete idiot?”, but his voice was lost in the wind and the sound of metal spikes scraping the sheer ice beneath.
When they passed me by, and after I encouraged the last rider (I think I said something clever, like “The best for last, eh?”), I proceeded with my ride. But even though the riders had passed me by, his initial statement stuck with me as I negotiated the trails for the next couple of hours.
Much of the upcoming singletrack was either snow covered, flat, or even bare ground, due to the ridiculously warm temperatures we had the past week, and the riding was quite easy for me. And all the while, I congratulated myself for maintaining naked tires and experiencing the trails in their real state. It has been my opinion for years that going without studs provides the best opportunities to work on my balance and technical skills, anticipating slick spots and making the necessary adjustments to stay on the bike and to stay moving. I believed that it made me a better rider when I rode in the spring and the summer.
In short, I felt that I was the bike stud. When I drink my own Kool-aid, I like to think that my balance on the bike is second to none (well, apart from ridiculous athletes like Macaskill and Wibmer) and that it is sufficient to navigate difficult trails, even when they are shrouded in ice. And as long as the track is straightforward, as it was for the next little while, this illusion is upheld.
But then I come to a climb that is either completely icy or interspersed with icy sections, and I quickly rediscover that no matter how good my technical skills are, physics will beat me every time. No friction, no traction, and thus no climbing. My bike will come to a halt, and when I put my feet down, I end up sliding backwards with my bike in tow, which is not a very fun proposition.
And the trails that we have made in the nearby ravine have lots of steep climbs, which meant that I often had to get off my bike and try to hike-a-bike it up to the top. Often, this is no easy task, since I am walking on ice and I have no spikes on my winter riding boots. So I am slipping and sliding like a 1920’s slapstick comedy, and I barely make it to the top with my ego and body intact.
But these are not even the most challenging sections when there is ice. That honour goes to the downhill portions that go around a corner, with the trail being off-camber. When a bike goes around this kind of corner, all physics conspires against the rider and wants to throw him off the trail and down the bank, often directly into a thorn bush or headfirst into a tree. Seriously dangerous!
Again, the ravine has more than its fair share of such features. When I get to the top of them, I feel my heart rate going up and I know that there is a good chance that I am going to crash my bike in an awful way.
There are usually two strategies that I employ in such situations. The first is to take the uphill foot off the pedal and keep the foot out while I slowly … ohh so slowly … go down the track. If ever I feel my back end starting to slide out, I would put my foot down and make sure that my bike doesn’t topple and have me sledding over the edge of a cliff. There were moments when I came so close to doing just that, my bike on the very edge of the trail and the downward plunge just looming, ready to welcome me into its deadly embrace. On this ride, I proved to be lucky and when I emerged on the other end of the section without suffering damage, I would shake my head, smile sheepishly, and whisper to myself, “I live again.” So stupid!
The other strategy, especially when the trail is particularly treacherous and the consequences of failure would be mortal injury, is to get off the bike and to carefully lower my bike down the hill, trying very hard to keep my feet on the adjacent hillside so that my feet do not slide out on the trail’s slick surface.
I used both strategies far too often on that ride, and all the while, I was considering the wisdom of that rider’s statement: “Great day for spiked tires, eh?” I had to admit, when faced with the many life-threatening moments of that icy ride, that I was not enjoying myself. Not only that, when the ride was finished, my lower back was really feeling it, due to the frequent surprise jerks and yanks that come from riding on such an untrustworthy surface. It would have really sucked if, after suffering a terrible fall, I toasted my lower back and was unable to ride for the weeks to come.
As I rode the bike path back to my home, it had become clear to me that my future in fat biking would have to parallel the evolution I have experienced in winter commuting. Last year, I was so proud of myself for being able to ride the icy sidewalks on the 3 inch knobby tires of my hardtail, but there were times when those tires had slid out on me and if it wasn’t for my quick reflexes in getting my foot on the ground, I would have painfully slammed my entire body into the ground. So, I decided to put studs on my commute bike, and from then on, I have really enjoyed riding on ice, amazed at how stable my bike is on even the slickest of surfaces. It was a deal changer.
It looks like the next purchase for my fat bike will be a pair of 5 inch studded tires. They will offer the best of both worlds: big knobbies to give me traction in the soft snow, and plenty of studs to dig into the ice. I may not have as many opportunities to test my balance and reflexes, since the bike will be far more stable on the trails, but this will be more than made up for by the facts that I will be able to climb the iciest of hills and that I will not have to worry about dying. I will have fun, and I will return home safe and sound, able to ride again on the following day. The older I get, the better that sounds.
Being a stud is such an antiquated and male chauvinist concept anyway. Far better to be studded, and when I ride my future trails at their iciest, I will be sure to say to any rider that I pass, “Great day for spiked tires, eh?”
My school has a great photography / media program, and this year, one of their projects is to interview teachers and administrators and to take videos of our answers. Then, on the Friday of each week, we present the video to our classrooms, in an effort to help the students get to know the staff. Clever idea, and I was fortunate enough to be the first one interviewed.
This past week, one of our counselors in student services was interviewed. He was once in charge of our school’s leadership program, and as such, he is well spoken, dynamic, and very popular with the student population. When I saw that he was being interviewed, I really looked forward to his answers to the questions, and I was not disappointed.
I could bring up many of the things he said, since it was such a good speech, but what really struck me was his answer to the question: If you could have a superpower, what would it be? My answer, which turns out to be a common one, was to be able to fly. He said that he would not be comfortable with flying, since he was afraid of heights (I think I can relate to this answer, actually). Instead, he would like to be able to transport instantaneously from one location to another, and he even made reference to Star Trek, saying it would be like being beamed using a teleporter.
The reason he wanted this particular power was so that he could travel instantly to the most beautiful natural locations that the world has to offer. He happens to be quite the outdoorsman, and as such, he is really into camping, canoeing, and hiking … not to mention mountain biking, which is why I respect him so much.
His idea had me thinking while I was biking back home from school that day. And it soon became clear that I had to agree with him. I would rather have the ability to teleport, much more than the ability to fly. (This happens to me all the time. I come up with an answer with great confidence, and then someone else offers an alternative answer and I realize that their answer is so much better than mine. This is why I am a teacher, by the way. I have very few good ideas of my own, but instead, I am happy to share the great ideas and contributions of others.)
But the reason I want to able to beam to other places at will is a bit different than this school counselor’s reason. My motivation is less about being beamed to a remote natural location (as appealing as that is), but it is more about being beamed away from a situation.
One of my biggest fears when I go mountain biking in the mountains is the possibility of meeting up with a bear. I know that the chances are quite small, and the most likely result of such a meeting is that the bear will be scared and run away from me. But a small chance is still a chance, and when I am in the bush, my mind is consumed by this possibility. And I am terrified by it.
So, how cool would it be if, upon encountering a bear on a singletrack with nowhere to hide, I could simply will myself to beam back home, bike and all, and arrive completely unscathed and healthy. That would be amazing! I would be way more relaxed while I ride, and I would enjoy the experience so much more. And I would be willing to go on excursions into really distant and remote trails, all by myself, and delight in the natural surroundings in all their glory. Wow, that would be such a dream come true.
But even apart from this, I would love this superpower even for the local rides I do around Edmonton. One of the big dangers of riding for hours away from the house is experiencing a mechanical problem with the bike or having a big crash, rendering me unable to ride. I do not ride with a phone, and so when my bike is inoperable or my body is in great pain, I still have to find a way to get home on my own. So, inevitably, I have to walk my bike home, which I have done many times, or I have to ride my bike in an injured state (one time, I had to ride 2 hours to get home, after seriously cracking my ribs in a terrible crash). But to be able to instantly transport home? What a dream come true!!
So yes, when my trek becomes far too dangerous or I am seeing stars after a crash, beam me home, Scotty.
Phil Goldthorpe: Views from the Passenger Seat 