Making Hay While the Sun Shines...
Jul. 3rd, 2011 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
endlessraritiesThere are certain guidelines about getting fit. They say that if you're trying to build up fitness, you should push your body to go gradually harder so that you train it to do more without getting injuring. In cycling terms, this usually means adding another ten percent onto your mileage each time.
Now, the maximum distance I've cycled this year is my nineteen mile cycle track extravaganza, and for the last couple of weeks, the weather on the weekends has been so bad that I've managed no more than fifteen miles. But, hey, the sun's out today, and I'm a cyclist, which means that I'm a) a bit mentally unhinged, and b) an unmitigated masochist, so naturally I decided that I was going to make the most of the good weather and do my 34 mile run down to Dalgarven Mill and back.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. As we charged out along the cycle track, I felt really good.
But I was forgetting that I was on my road bike for the first time in a year. It requires an entirely different position to my mountain bike, more like sitting in the forward seat than the upright dressage style. And then there were hills. Lots of hills. I walked up a particular brute, which was embarrassing, but grinding to a halt and toppling gently sideways would have been embarrassing, too.
Riding a road bike also does weird things to your psyche. I don't usually take it along the cycle track. It's like taking a thoroughbred into a children's playpark for a quiet hack - there were lots of hairy moments when bike met dog, and since every movement in the rider is reflected in the bike, there was plenty of shying going on.
And then there was a huge big descent on the run home. My computer wasn't working, so I'm not sure what speed I was going. I've easily hit 38mph before at that point, and I don't think I was much slower today. Needless to say, I was wrestling with the brakes over the lower half. I felt I was piloting a very fizzy headstrong horse around a cross-country course - of course it knows best, and it's damned if it's going to listen to you when you tell it to slow down.
I made it home safely. Despite the brainless idiot in the Subaru who had his foot to the floor on one of the backroads (J estimated that he was going about 80mph, and he has a good instinct for these things). But now I'm suffering the consequences. I feel like I've just ridden a one day event. My arms hurt. My back hurts. My legs hurt. I want to crawl into the corner and die.
But the cake was nice. And for once, I think I deserved it.
Now, the maximum distance I've cycled this year is my nineteen mile cycle track extravaganza, and for the last couple of weeks, the weather on the weekends has been so bad that I've managed no more than fifteen miles. But, hey, the sun's out today, and I'm a cyclist, which means that I'm a) a bit mentally unhinged, and b) an unmitigated masochist, so naturally I decided that I was going to make the most of the good weather and do my 34 mile run down to Dalgarven Mill and back.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. As we charged out along the cycle track, I felt really good.
But I was forgetting that I was on my road bike for the first time in a year. It requires an entirely different position to my mountain bike, more like sitting in the forward seat than the upright dressage style. And then there were hills. Lots of hills. I walked up a particular brute, which was embarrassing, but grinding to a halt and toppling gently sideways would have been embarrassing, too.
Riding a road bike also does weird things to your psyche. I don't usually take it along the cycle track. It's like taking a thoroughbred into a children's playpark for a quiet hack - there were lots of hairy moments when bike met dog, and since every movement in the rider is reflected in the bike, there was plenty of shying going on.
And then there was a huge big descent on the run home. My computer wasn't working, so I'm not sure what speed I was going. I've easily hit 38mph before at that point, and I don't think I was much slower today. Needless to say, I was wrestling with the brakes over the lower half. I felt I was piloting a very fizzy headstrong horse around a cross-country course - of course it knows best, and it's damned if it's going to listen to you when you tell it to slow down.
I made it home safely. Despite the brainless idiot in the Subaru who had his foot to the floor on one of the backroads (J estimated that he was going about 80mph, and he has a good instinct for these things). But now I'm suffering the consequences. I feel like I've just ridden a one day event. My arms hurt. My back hurts. My legs hurt. I want to crawl into the corner and die.
But the cake was nice. And for once, I think I deserved it.
