Steve and I drove three hours to Waynesboro last Saturday for some serious (Read: bigger than Pungo Ferry Bridge) hill climbing. We didn't leave until noon which means we didn't get there with bikes out, gear on, ready to roll until about 4 p.m. Rather late in the day to get motivated for what was supposed to be a medium-hard brick, especially hard after a 3 hour car ride.
Medium hard means we do our own thing. (Steve's medium hard is my impossible hard). So I started out alone. The first ten miles on the parkway starting at Afton Inn are about nine miles of climbing and one mile of descent. I was working but I was also enjoying it. Something was missing....
I got back to the car and without the usual "ugh, I don't wanna" started my brick despite the fact that the route Steve said he was doing and that I couldn't possibly do due to my 'lack of agility' -therefore guaranteeing this would be my running route- seemed to be three miles of straight up hill. I was definitely working on that run but I was also enjoying it. Something was definitely missing...
The next day we did the old Blue Ridge Extreme metric route - thirty miles of rolling hills leading into a Cat 2 climb called Vesuvius that will forever intimidate me no matter how many times I actually make it to the top and then about thirty miles of parkway riding which means no climb too steep but more than one climb quite long especially on tired legs. I was working and hurting especially by mile 50 but I was also having fun, lots. Again I felt it, elusive but definitely palpable - something was noticeably missing....
As I dragged my tired, stiff and achy bones into the shower I pondered the mystery. Instead of feeling discouraged, I felt satisfied and instead of feeling like the biggest loser (and I'm not talking about weight loss) I felt great, happy, inspired even. Missing, gone and disappeared were the feelings of drudgery, demoralization and discouragement that usually follow my workouts.
I made a decision after Eagleman to stop comparing myself to everyone else. Who cares? I never cared and I realized that for me, caring sucks all the life's blood out of the sport for me. It's amazing. I'm having fun training. Fun training. For me at least no longer an oxymoron.
