I went out for a ride yesterday, it was supposed to be a big one and I was excited to link some of my favorite trails together and finish in time to watch the finish of the ProTour Challenge up on the mountain. I started up Slate D'Huez, a climb that Chris assured me was much easier when it wasn't on Lap 2 of the CeeBee Classic. It hurt. My legs screamed. I made it to the top and rallied down the 403.
Up Schoefield, the legs continued to protest. Even the motivation of trying to keep up with Eddie Clark and Shawn Lortie couldn't convince them to turn the pedals over any faster. The singletrack climb had me pulled over staving off vomiting.
Good gawd, Ez, pull yourself together, I told myself, rallying down the downhill. I passed a rather obese looking man near the bottom before continuing on the Lower 401 and he followed me on the uphill. It took every ounce of energy to turn the pedals over fast enough to get him out of sight. This is not normal. I gasped up the short climbs, soft-pedaled whenever I could.
Descending down to the road, I told myself that I'd climb out of Gothic and climb the backside of Mt. CeeBee for an extra dosage of trail. I barely made it over the three humps climbing out of Gothic and I threw in the towel. Done. I looked longingly at the mountain and the steep trail heading up it knowing there was ripping singletrack on the other side. I started up the road to the trail, convincing myself I could pedal out of my slump.
The ducklings on Monarch Crest. Seven flat tires on Silver Creek. Epic day.
I turned around in short order. Face it. You're tired. It's okay to be tired. You've been playing hard. Very hard.
But being tired still sucks. The days are numbered until the snow flies and burned out of trails I am not.