In general, things are going well. I've put a plan in place that sets ambitious but attainable goals, and has some flexibility so things like two rainy days in a row don't completely derail me. I wanted to ride three times last week, and I did - Wed, Sat, Sun. Not quite what I expected, but I got them in and felt good while doing it.
Well, except when a crazy lady in a minivan decided her day was much more important than mine and, seeing me, pulled out of a plaza to beat the other cars, causing me to slam on my brakes to avoid running into her lovely automatic-sliding side doors. No problem, I'm sure the milk was about to spoil or something, and when that happens you can't even feed it to the cat.
Or, when I got harassed by a woman who lives in the complex I started and ended from, because she thought I was using their parking lot without "proper authority." It's okay, she was probably lonely and just wanted someone to talk to.
Or, when I got chased by chickens (you read that right). Or when I had to dodge a brave/dumb chipmunk (Chip?). Or when I also had to dodge a enormous orange cat rolling around in the dirt on the street (Garfield?). Or when a dog chased me. Nature! Honestly, though, wouldn't it just be boring if it was all pedaling and no surprises?
Anyway, today rolled around, and I saw it was going to pour for the next two days. I thought, it would be my third day in a row when I hadn't been doing anything except some surfing (couch and channels) in months, but fuck it, let's go. Mistake #1. I was trying to get 15 miles in. Mistake #2. I was going to leave from my house, so I tried to map a route that gave me the mileage without being overly challenging, since my legs were pretty heavy to begin with. I chose and out-and-back route that heads away from Boston and has fewer lights and traffic to deal with. Mistake #3... annnnnd knock-out punch.
See, I failed to remember that a key feature of that route is a roughly 1.8 mile uphill climb with few, if any, plateaus - just changes in the pitch of the climb. I had to stop three different times to summit it. At one point, I was sure someone had snuck behind me and actually tethered me to the ground, because as hard as I pushed, I wasn't going anywhere. I considered asking for oxygen at the fire department I turned around in, but the guys sitting outside didn't look too friendly and I was more afraid they'd turn the hose on me. So, I turned back toward civilization, enjoying what was now a 1.5 mile downhill ride. In fact, I felt so good at the bottom of it that I decided not to turn home, but to keep going. What number are we on now? Ah, yes... Mistake #4.
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| In case you can't read it, that red bar goes from 2mi to 3.8mi and from 50ft to 300ft. (Click for larger image) |
A few humiliating minutes later, I am off the bike and walking it up a long, but not particularly steep hill. I knew it was time to officially quit when a woman in her 60's and a bike on her trunk pulled off to make sure I was okay, and then proceeded to tell me how she completed a personal best 77 miles that day as a part of her training for a 10 week cross-country ride (I had gone less than 8 miles at that point). "I had my gallbladder removed," I said meekly. "Oh... I had mine out last year, too," she replied. Shit.
Well, adventure is all part of it, I suppose. Today might not have been my best day, but I got out there. Now, I'm going to try to figure out who encased my legs in cement when I wasn't looking and then enjoy a restful night dreaming of downhills and the wind at my back.
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