Bikezilla

Ride the Puddles

Rest Days

Posted by bikezilla on July 21, 2009


Ok, I’d thought I was going to give the new bike THE bike name that I would never ever give that skanky ho of a ride I just upgraded from, but I think I need to save “Kelly” for my road bike. Maybe. Still thinking about it.

Five consecutive days of riding, four of them pushing myself, left my legs in need of a rest. Obviously I’m still a year or maybe two away from my debut in Giro d’Italia.

This discomfort is not like the burn of lactic acid build up, it’s more like a feeling of weakness and the sensation of having sandpaper inserted between my skin and leg muscles. When I feel that while walking up a set of stairs I know that I’m not recovered.

As I get stronger I find that I heal better, faster. I was hoping maybe to get in climbing today, but found that I still need that second day to recover after several hard days strung together.

On the one hand, I literally get butterflies when I think of riding my bike. Ok, sure, that is pathetic, but there it is, I said it and it’s true.

On the other hand I’m a first rate mental case, and when I set a goal for my ride I also end up getting sick, really sick, from fear and nerves.

I actually felt pretty good almost all day. Toward the end of work I’m starting to think, “Hmmmmmm, I might be able to get a ride in!” Butterflies instantly.

Then I think, “Oh yeah, today is “climbing” day!” And I really like climbing. It kills me, but I like it. A lot. But, it’s still a goal and still fills me with a fear that I’m a fraud and I’ll fail and the whole world will know that all the climbing I did before this was a fluke, a cosmic hiccup, a lie I’ve convinced myself was true. And then, OMG, it’s my FIRST day climbing on the new bike, and damn, I don’t have the range of easy gears on this double crankset that I had on the skanky ho bike’s triple crankset, and OMG AGAIN the FIRST ride is the VIRGIN ride and OMG AGAIN AGAIN what if . . . blah blah blah. Until I’m sucking down Tums like air for half the ride home and hoping my roiling stomach doesn’t roil it’s way to the other end, because dammit I’m still 45 minutes from the office and a bathroom and blah blah blah again.

I’m expert at coming up with excuses about why I just can’t / shouldn’t ride a climb or a set of intervals. I can think of twenty perfectly valid reasons that any kind, caring, reasonable person would instantly understand to be sniveling cowardice. Yet, because they are kind and caring as well as reasonable, they don’t roll their eyes until they turn away, and the “you’re such a pathetic, whining loser” tone barely creeps into their voices at all while they’re pretending to be sympathetic to my not-at-all-psychosomatic ailments and reasonings.

When it comes to riding my bike I’m pretty good at sucking it up, fighting the good fight, stringing together irritating cliches and hitting the road, trail or trainer.

But today was different.

Coming up the stairs to my 3rd floor apt I felt it. I felt . . . IT. The weak, sandpappery feeling. THAT is serious, because if I push against that I end up in a state of over-training. So I really did stay in.

Which now means that tomorrow afternoon I’ll be sucking down Tums like air for half the ride home and hoping my roiling stomach doesn’t roil it’s way to the other end, because dammit I’m still 45 minutes from the office and a bathroom and blah blah blah AFREAKINGAIN!

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