For those of you who have been following the melodrama (at least since Monday) you will recall that our power was out for almost three days. This alone should suffice as our defense in losing the streak of posts. Adding insult to injury was the following snow storm and freezing temps that are just now starting to subside. We are just above freezing but the roads are clear with on again-off again showers, sleet, high winds and snow flurries. But I want to take it back a day and detail some of the myriad physiological and psychological effects garnered from yesterday's adventure.
First my poor body's response. In two words, not good. I could also use not bad. Only some one voluntarily steeping sufficiently outside of their comfort zone (think Ironman) will nod to this nuance. My thinking as I loaded up my favorite backpack and tightened laces on my old hiking boots was that, although icy, hilly and cold, the five-mile jaunt would be a nice return to running. Walk before you can run. And even though my left hip flexor is still causing soreness and pain, if I can't walk five miles I might as well quit competing altogether and take up curling or chess. Additionally, the chance are good that someone will see me walking and offer a ride into town. All that strategic thinking takes place in my kitchen where I toss back one more shot of joe and reaffirm my decision to embrace the adventure.
I get to the top of the hill where the blocking truck is still stuck, marooned like a whale on a beach, and offer the crew encouragement as I pass. I am thinking that I wish I knew a route that would allow keep me off the roads but although safer and more scenic, the odds of a ride are rendered essentially nil. I decide to split the difference and play it by feel. I call RG and tell him I am about an hour out and please don't go anywhere. I get a text reporting that the truck has been towed. I shit in the woods.
Since I am hanging on to the dream of doing another IM sometime soon (see photo) I look at all this as a training day. I finally get to RG's condo and check my watch. Just under two hours. Five miles in two hours is not going to win any medals, but I was pleased to be at the turnaround aid station.
Dad gets meds, breakfast, watch repair, trash emptied and carpets vacuumed. Fox News is having a difficult time distancing Trump from Manafort, Gates and Flynn while simultaneously defending the NRA and the second amendment. I shake my head in disgust, have a half bowl of canned peaches and suit-up for the second leg, my constitutional right.
I am going to return the same route, with a short cut in the Grand Forest. Both my heels are cracked causing a more flat footed strike than usual, a situation that is already affecting my calves and quads. I find a pace that keeps me moving semi-brightly. Allegro non-troppo. Still nobody stops to inquire if I might need a lift. I trudge on. In the forest I drink the last of my water as I am feeling some symptoms of a pending bonk. I get to the park, find two new trails, pass downed trees, gawk at the frozen pond and finally I am sliding down the hill, side-stepping black ice and downed tree debris. My hip flexors, both, are on fire. I want a beer.
And food.
A five egg spinach omelet and three cups of coffee later, I look at my watch to find I have to be in the Barn in an hour. Fortunately it is now drivable and my fears of having to walk there too are squelched.
At the PowerBarn, although I was ready to ride, I facilitate and lay low, spinning out the soreness in my legs and hips for twenty minutes. Once home afterwards, and after a few ales, the question was, would I be sufficiently recovered for our high-intensity Saturday spin session?
I was. Not bad.
Not real good, but definitely not bad either.
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