Pushing Myself to Train for RAGBRAI

Captions: 1. Jim Conzemius. 2. On left, Maria Conzemius; on right, Jim Conzemius at the Big Axe somewhere in Louisa County, Iowa.

Jim and I put some miles on this weekend. We rode to Hills and back on Friday, which was about 22.4 miles. Then we took a day off to clean and do chores. Sunday we rode to North Liberty and back, which was about 25 miles.

Sunday I had a cup of delicious corn chowder with sprinkles of bacon and a pistachio encrusted salmon salad at Red’s Alehouse. We spent more than we did Saturday at Bashu’s Chinese restaurant the night before with friends!

Bashu’s was good, but I should have ordered some of what everyone else had. I ordered the beef tenderloin because a Yelp reviewer complained that it was too hot and spicy and there should have been a warning. I thought, I like hot and spicy so I'll order that, but it was too hot and spicy. I wished I’d ordered the mild version of Kung Pao chicken that Jim and our friend Pat ordered. Kenn’s order of noodles and something else looked good, too.

I’ll be eating the bits of my left-over beef tenderloin with vegetables with large amounts of brown rice for the rest of my life.

Next month, we’ll go to Basta’s. Jim won one of the city’s Bike-to-Work Week prizes. His $25 gift certificate is good at Basta’s, among other places. I said he bikes to work nearly every day and he could go wherever he wanted. Then I hinted I’d like to go to Basta’s. Not fair, really, but he won’t suffer any though because he loves pizza even more than I do. I’ll probably order the pasta, which I try not to have very often.

Jim and I had one of those nice heart-to-heart talks at Red’s that we seldom have about our grown children and our plans for the future. We were pleasantly lit by an excellent gin-and-tonic (me) and a beer (him). The food was good and we were comfortable together. There’s nothing like intense exercise to induce a relaxed state in a good restaurant over a couple of drinks.

I had a little crisis at the top of Dubuque Street hill on the way to Red’s. I had to stretch myself to keep up with Jim and I was panting from exertion. (I have asthma, I’m out of shape, or both.)

He rides to work every day, and has been since two days in February, more days in March, and most days since April. That’s seven miles a day that I don’t ride. We both do cycling classes at Core Fitness, or at what used to be Core Fitness (new ownership is taking over but we don’t know who they are yet). We both ride on the weekends, but he does a little more riding than I do.

“I’ll be thinner and older this RAGBRAI, but not necessarily any faster,” I half-cried and laughed at the same time while panting at the top of Dubuque Street hill.

Jim gave me a pep talk about the 10-year-old girls’ baseball team that beat the boys’ team. The news report we saw started with Tom Hanks saying with horror in the movie “A League of Their Own,” which could have starred his own mother, Rosemary Armatis Conzemius, because she was a professional baseball player during WWII (“semi-professional,” she’d say modestly), “there’s no crying in baseball!”

The little girls who beat the boys agreed. There’s no crying in baseball.

“I don’t expect that’ll happen every time,” I demurred. But it’s cool that the girls beat the boys even once.

No matter how discouraged I feel at times, I’ve still lost 40-50 pounds. I’m still more fit than most women my age. I’m still doing RAGBRAI at 67 and able to briskly walk up a flight of stairs after having two hips replaced without using the railing. That's been a long time coming.

Next I'll have to have surgery on my right knee or my hands. Thank God for replacement parts and fix-it surgery. I just don’t like having major surgery because I have to take the time to rehab and get back up to speed, so I'm putting off my hand surgery for "Celtic claw," which I could have any time I want. I don't want it, but they won't give any more shots.

After my right hip replacement was botched, I know there's always the danger that some misogynistic male surgeon will delegate major surgery to some incompetent resident who will botch the surgery for lack of supervision, care, and attention. Then I have to try and heal in spite of the surgeon's lack of supervision and his resident's incompetence that he lies about until the statute of limitations runs out. I might get past the chronic pain or I might not.

I see women surgeons now. Let’s see how that works out. Women medical professionals aren't perfect either, but I've had better luck with them. I figure in a sexist culture, women have to be twice as good to be thought half as good, especially in the particularly misogynistic world of orthopedic surgery.

As for when I'll have surgery again, can you think of when it would be a good time not to be able to walk easily or use your hands, especially your hands? Neither can I.