Day: March 28, 2024

Ah, life’s rich tapestry, where the rhythm of our hearts spins yarns more enthralling than any campfire story, particularly when you wade into the murky waters of heart rate variability (HRV). Embarking on a quest to decipher my own HRV’s rises and falls has been nothing short of an epic, peppered with familiar foes: the creeping years, my affair with cycling (pedal to the metal!), the culinary do’s and don’ts, and, naturally, the relentless saga of my ever-encroaching waistline.

Now, let’s cut to the chase (and I do mean the heart of the matter, pun totally intended). Over the recent span of my adventures, my faithful health app has been plotting a course, revealing a slow but steady dip in my HRV. For the uninitiated, HRV is the maestro conducting the symphony between heartbeats, offering a sneak peek into our autonomic nervous system’s harmony and our heart health. A high HRV score? You’re practically a superhero in managing stress and heart health. On the flip side, a low HRV might signal it’s time for a lifestyle or stress overhaul, as there could be health gremlins hiding in the dark corners.

Now, at the distinguished age of 68, with my cycling jersey snug and an eagle eye on my diet (yes, I’ve broken up with “nasty” oils and struggling with the sweet talk of sugar – er, beer), the connection between my HRV and my not-so-slowly expanding waistline is undeniable. The plot thickens, especially when you consider the journey from a sprightly 77ms in 2020 to a more reflective 62ms in 2024, despite my valiant efforts.

Peering deeper, it’s evident that life’s dance, with its age-related steps, naturally leads to a bit of HRV decline. However, the tempo of my HRV’s dip seems to sync up with the growth of my waistline, hinting that perhaps not everything is shipshape in the realm of my heart health.

The usual suspects? A lineup featuring metabolic shifts, stress levels, sleep patterns, muscle tone, and even the sneaky roles of hush-hush health conditions. And here’s the twist: it’s not just about piling on pounds but the stealthy advance of abdominal fat that could be playing the villain, throwing a wrench in my HRV and overall cardiovascular wellness.

In conclusion, the odyssey to understanding and enhancing my HRV is more than a numbers game; it’s a narrative of how our ways of life, our health, and our heartbeats are all part of a larger, intertwined story. With a mix of vigilance, a smidge of patience, and a healthy dose of chuckles over the waistline chronicles, navigating the road to better HRV isn’t just achievable—it’s the next exciting chapter in my epic of well-being.

Well, here’s a bitch for ya. Maybe it is more appreciation than bitch or even a bitchy appreciation. So I’m sitting here doing my daily constitutional as a bluebird sings outside. And I think to myself how much I appreciate spring. The returning birds … Robbins, Bluebirds, and the like.

Here it is. Wow, how nice spring is. How nice? Nice enough that I can’t help but appreciate it. And now I want to savor every tiny second of this moment. But then I think to myself about how last year I was able to appreciate every moment and every second. Seriously, I can remember every second. There weren’t many I admit. But I do remember. I remember warmer bird singing weather and count them on my cold freezing digits.

OK, what’s the rub? As much as I would like to appreciate spring. I know spring is only a moment. The majority of the year is hell winter. Rainy and angry. Mother nature hating the human population. Don’t get me started how she is now going to set things right.

Wow. I wish there was much more appreciation than these tiny precious seconds of happiness. I do appreciate though.

I was a little unsettled before we arrived at the parking area because Bozeman had survived 3 major snowfalls since we were there last. We had done a scout trip on a Wednesday Night Adventure. And even then going was tough due to the lack of snow machine traffic. Heavy powder is tough to push through as all us fat bikers know. And with my partner verging on sickness I suspected we would turn around and just go to the hot springs instead.

Leaving the vehicle my hopes went up and it seemed that maybe things would be packed down and doable. The only thing that could get in the way would be if the warm temps were so warm that we fall through and couldn’t ride. Which would be the show stopper.

5 miles out and at the base of the big 2 mile climb things turned sour. Indeed it was hot enough and we could not float the crust or peddle through the fresh wet powder. Only 1 snow machine had been up there that morning and their track was not enough. I waited for Mo to make “the decision”.

“let’s just push for an hour and then see if it improves”, she said.

I knew it wouldn’t but what the heck. A hour of nice sunny day of easy pushing … right? Walking in the track was not that hard. And then there was the fact that I could ride certain parts. Actually I cleared 60% of the 2 mile climb. Mo did not. And that was 2 hours after we wanted to make “the decision”. And then it was too late. We might as well push to the cabin at that point.

When the one snow machine track we had was not enough to hold us any longer the pushing became very hard. I did not want to kill my partner so I force-ably made her LET me push her bike. She did not have the energy to fend me off and just let me. I would of never gotten away with this tactic if she felt OK. So my routine was to push my bike through the heavy snow for a mile then run back and push hers on my track … kind of a rest push as you will.

We made it to the cabin almost 5 hours later and I went to work to get it warmed up. Neither of us had the energy for anything else and just passed out in the bunks.

Paul’s Visit Part 2

After missing the first part of the adventure weekend Paul did finally show up. And promptly got the car stuck. The recent snow storms had not only delayed his plane but also made for driving a beetle up to Hyalite a losing battle. No matter, we would dig the car out after our stay in cabin #2.

Window Rock is a great cabin and after figuring out the stove we had that place as comfy as the Taj Mahal Hotel in Atlantic City‎. Not that I know how comfy that place is but I can only imagine. We caught up over brats and suds then fell fast asleep in comfortable beds. Well my partner and I did our customary “pull the mattress onto the floor” trick. The next day we set forth to play in the mountains.

Being a host it is always the goal for your guests to have fun. It did not take me long to determine Paul was having a blast. For my partner and I we kept apologizing for the “weak” adventure but to him it was just right. We climbed to the top of the Elephant Mountain Ridge. On the other side was the Blackmore Drainage.

The wind was howling and it was a tad bit nippy. But just like old times we stood on top of the ridge and discussed important things. Like what was for supper. And whether or not we had a Thai restaurant in town. Then it was time to bomb down.

The two night three day weekend adventure we had set up for Paul’s visit was a success. Capping it all off with a successful digging out of the beetle we headed back home. Sno-mo-beetling is what we coined the evening extraction.

Just as I dive back into the blogging sea, I manage to throw a wrench in the works. Last week, in a moment of clarity (or perhaps madness), I decided to jump ship from Windows to Apple. But don’t panic! Thanks to a boatload of RAM and a quad-core processor, I can host virtual parties on Apple’s Unix OS, inviting everyone from Windows and Linux, to, well, Apple itself. So, I’m buzzing with excitement to snap some pics and give the new rig a whirl.

I have bloggers block but know from experience I must blurt out something. I guess I will go with the old format. What did I do, what am I doing, and what am I going to do. I am searching my mind for something to report but the lack of glucose in my brain prohibits me from synthesizing anything. I haven’t  eaten all day. Yesterday I did. Oh it is coming back to me now. I had fish and chips with a beer at the Hamilton House. I was up all night wrestling with what it did to my super polished Carbo Rocket processor. Now I cant eat … makes me ill.  Damn that social eating.

What does the photo to the right have to do with this story?  Nothing … just did some photos from last month and liked this one. It is of when I rode my Turner around Big Sky for a day.  Super beautiful up there.

So why was I in Victor? Well my buddy and I did a 6 hour fun ride in and around Corvallis to check out the only dry trails in all of Montana. Norm and I hit up Flat Rock, Willow Creek Road, and took a spin up to Calf Creek to see if that was open. It was not.  So after that and the sun came out we headed over to the Hamilton house for some refreshments. It was good.

Well that covers what I did and what I am doing now. This morning on the commute to work I told my friend Lydia that my plan was to fly under the radar today and just try to escape to Tuesday. Well that didn’t happen. Got in trouble at work for letting a client’s domain name expire so I am pretty exposed to life right now. So I guess I will just go home and work out.

BTW: Congrats to my friends who raced this weekend. Zephanie got 12 in the Fontana cross country and 9th in the short track. Then Jill managed to bust out a hundred miles in the mountains of Alaska shaving 5 hours of last years time in the WM100. Damn good job girls …o/o

Ah, the joys of moving – it’s like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get. For all the lovely folks I’ve been chatting with, quick update from your neighborhood chaos coordinator: scratch that previous address I gave you. My new digs are not at 647 Forest Road in New Haven. Nope, we’re taking a slight detour to:

647 Forest Rd
West Haven, CT
06516-7929, US

Yep, you heard it right. Same numbers, different town. It’s like the universe’s way of saying, “Gotcha!” So, if you were planning to send me housewarming gifts (or a pizza, which, let’s be honest, is the best kind of housewarming gift), make sure it lands in West Haven, not New Haven. Trust me, you don’t want your carefully selected succulents ending up in someone else’s living room.