Strange things happen when you recover from the biggest thing you’ve ever done under a particular set of circumstances…life’s like that. Destroy to build.
Sometimes, with the right amount of thought and planning, these things can be most solid and generally super. I would consider my performance Tuesday of last somewhat remarkable. Not in terms of blistering speed but of recovery, post 24 and all. Victory.
Sometimes, with the right amount of ignorance and binderdundatitude, these things can turn out to be terribly painful life lessons. I would consider my performance Saturday past remarkable. Not in terms of blistering performance but of ineptitude, post 24 and all. Utter defeat.
Approaching the DUKE’S SPRING EPIC 8 this past weekend my attitude was blissfully flippant. I was firmly entrenched in mine own personal eliteness. I had, after all, ridden a bike for 18+ of a possible 24hrs less then 7 days prior. The coming 8 would be a walk in the proverbial park, never once thinking it just might be CENTRAL PARK.
Rigid singlespeed. 33:19. Liquid nutrition. Rabbits. Bloody rabbits.
Finishing lap 7 I had to beg for something, anything to numb my lower back. It came in the form of ALEVE. I can’t vouch appropriately for its effectiveness, the results were inconclusive and the cheque isn’t in the mail. It numbed my elbows and hands sufficiently but it only assisted my back long enough for me to knock over a tree. The subsequent damage to my forearm offered ample distraction from my back.
Starting lap 10 I was tossed a dusty life raft in the form of a complete roll of Rolaids with CALCIUM. Craig, I am still not sure if your witch doctor vodooism works but I can assure you that the tropical chalk you tossed my way was either medicinally effective or just the placebic prescription I needed…13 laps. Victory, albeit snatched from the jaws of total embarrassment…
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