Since I have posted nothing of note since last fall, I’m going to skip the laziness and sloth of last winter and jump right into the very cold and wet “spring” in Utah. First up is a brief Canyondlands Half Marathon race report, followed by my first ride of twenty eleven. Before I begin, here is a transcript of an actual conversation I had recently.
Them: “Did I see you out running the other day?”
Them: “What are you training for?”
Them: “Are you trying to lose weight?”
Them: “What are you running for then?”
Moi: “I like it. I’ve run off and on since junior high.”
Well, I thought it was funny. On with the show.
Canyonlands Half Marathon Race Report
It sucked. The hardest and slowest half marathon time of my life. I ran Vikingman faster with bad knees and 56 miles of bike before it. Headwind. It’s my own fault. I just didn’t get enough miles in. The wet winter kept me indoors. Being extra busy at work kept me from getting in my lunchtime runs. Excuses. Lazy. NOtivation.
Still, I’m philosophical about the experience and learned a few things: I was harshly reminded that you can’t hide from 13 miles of running. The minimum is just that, barely enough to get you by. And lastly, I like being in shape way better than not.
The weekend was fun though, I did some damage to my liver and ate very well. Katie and Kevin are awesome hosts. And it’s in Moab. What more can you want? Less wind maybe…
Back in the Saddle – First Ride of Twenty-Eleven
I made it before April. Barely. The first bike ride of twenty-eleven. Glad it’s out of the way. In typical FROTY (first ride of the year) fashion, it was more work than fun. My knees protested, ass started to hurt. I pedaled squares on the way back as I battled mounting fatigue, a stiff headwind and rolling hills that forced me to slow to a crawl. In short, it was g-l-o-r-i-ous, glorious. Better if you read it like singing the song by Them.
Yep, glorious. Just to be on the road again is a good thing. I didn’t even mind dodging old ladies u-turning on me and going deaf from Harley’s roaring by with nary a baffle in their exhaust pipes. What did bother me was that out of the dozen or so other cyclists I saw, only one waved back at me. Thank you, incredibly bolt-upright rider man for returning my salutation. Even the runners I saw offered a friendly nod my way. Not my fellow cyclists though. Maybe it was because I wasn’t wearing my official The Bike Shoppe team kit? Perhaps it was because I was on my non-carbon fiber cyclocross bike shod with 32s (which make Morgan County roads near bliss I must add)? Is it possible my gangly early-season form made me appear to be a new rider and thus less than those vastly superior specimens? Whatever it was, it was lame. Be friendly to your fellows.
It was also good because even though it’s taken 20 years of cycling, and with my age, a likely reduction in testosterone but I’m now smart enough to know that the first few rides of the season shouldn’t be exuberant, mouth-foaming death marches. I rode for an hour and a half and finished the ride without feeling shelled. Not normal for the FROTY. It makes me excited to get back out again, this time on the mountain bike. But I need to do some work on that, which I’ll have some time to do this weekend, while it snows again. And I get over this cold I now have.