A Bridge Too Far.
Saturday my legs fell off 45 minutes into the workout. Nothing I could do would make them push any harder than a leisurely pace, and even that required some goosing. I was cooked, and figured I just had gone a little too hard in the first half. No problem. A high saturated fat meal with a sensible desert sundae to top it off and a good night's sleep and I would be back at it.
Sunday it took me all of about 10 pedal strokes to figure out that was perhaps a bit optimistic. I ground out most of what I was planning on doing, but even by indoor training standards it wasn't a lot of fun. I cut it a little short, because I wasn't doing myself any favors and I had to get to an Alyeska Mighty Mites coaching clinic. In the rain.
I frantically looked for all of my skiing gear at the last minute, cursing myself for procrastinating. Eventually, I just grabbed a bunch of spares (I collect ski gear like I collect bike parts) and rolled out the door 10 minutes late. The weather got worse and worse as I approached Alyeska. A steady rain was falling, and anything not hit by the groomer's tiller was see-through ice. What was hit by the groomer was slush, which coincidentally was the current composition of my legs. It was going to be a long day, especially since it was my first day on snow this season. In new boots.
A quick run from the top to the bottom with some other coaches on our way to the on-hill part of the clinic transformed my legs from merely sore to throbbing and threatening to lock up at any moment in a painful charley horse. That was OK, because that run also was enough to ensure I was pretty much soaked (despite the very best technical fabrics) and working my way towards miserable.
The head coach had us do a series of drills and other fun stuff, but eventually decided that it would be a better idea to destroy his coaching staff somewhat later in the season. No need to do it all up front.
I rushed home to feed the family, take my eldest back to Job Corps, and shop for groceries. Sure, I have plenty of reserve energy. As I got out of the car at the grocery store, the charley horse finally made its move, so I spent a few minutes leaning against the dirty car and crying silently. I limped around the store, leaning on the cart for support. Even my wife, whose idea of sympathy is to call me a dumb ass who should have known better, looked concerned.
I think I might designate tomorrow as a rest day. If all goes well, maybe I'll consider a similar designation for the rest of the week.
Or I'll go right back to killing myself.
Probably the latter.
Sunday it took me all of about 10 pedal strokes to figure out that was perhaps a bit optimistic. I ground out most of what I was planning on doing, but even by indoor training standards it wasn't a lot of fun. I cut it a little short, because I wasn't doing myself any favors and I had to get to an Alyeska Mighty Mites coaching clinic. In the rain.
I frantically looked for all of my skiing gear at the last minute, cursing myself for procrastinating. Eventually, I just grabbed a bunch of spares (I collect ski gear like I collect bike parts) and rolled out the door 10 minutes late. The weather got worse and worse as I approached Alyeska. A steady rain was falling, and anything not hit by the groomer's tiller was see-through ice. What was hit by the groomer was slush, which coincidentally was the current composition of my legs. It was going to be a long day, especially since it was my first day on snow this season. In new boots.
A quick run from the top to the bottom with some other coaches on our way to the on-hill part of the clinic transformed my legs from merely sore to throbbing and threatening to lock up at any moment in a painful charley horse. That was OK, because that run also was enough to ensure I was pretty much soaked (despite the very best technical fabrics) and working my way towards miserable.
The head coach had us do a series of drills and other fun stuff, but eventually decided that it would be a better idea to destroy his coaching staff somewhat later in the season. No need to do it all up front.
I rushed home to feed the family, take my eldest back to Job Corps, and shop for groceries. Sure, I have plenty of reserve energy. As I got out of the car at the grocery store, the charley horse finally made its move, so I spent a few minutes leaning against the dirty car and crying silently. I limped around the store, leaning on the cart for support. Even my wife, whose idea of sympathy is to call me a dumb ass who should have known better, looked concerned.
I think I might designate tomorrow as a rest day. If all goes well, maybe I'll consider a similar designation for the rest of the week.
Or I'll go right back to killing myself.
Probably the latter.
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