Weekend Training Review, Part 2

After Saturday morning's bipolar run workout, I was hoping to sneak in a game of tennis with Tanner. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate. Instead of exercising, then, the two of us ended up talking about the usual stuff—music, school, hunting for a job, and the insidious societal rot that inevitably follows the adoption of Socialism. And in order to make the conversation flow more smoothly, we also ate 500 tons of delicious Mexican food at 3 Margaritas.

(I shall leave it to the philosophers and psychologists to determine whether I run in order to eat baskets and baskets of chips, or whether I eat so much because I did the run. Or perhaps my overindulgence in spicy food represents some deeper anxiety about the World Situation, and is a manifestation of my concern over my son's susceptibility to commie pinko liberal hippie ideas. Who knows? Maybe it just tastes good.)

As always, my conversations with my son are a mixture of pride in his special musical talent & intellectual gifts, and his maddening reluctance to excel in school, graduate with honors, find a fulfilling career, make lots of money, and support me in my old age. But despite the fact that I struggle internally over the question of why using Ward Cleaver as my parenting role model hasn't worked more effectively, I continue to enjoy the time I spend with my kid more than just about anything else I could possibly do. I hope he will always be willing to share some of his time with me, Harry Chapin notwithstanding.

As far as training goes, though, that was it for Saturday. Oh sure, I suppose I burned a few calories doing laundry and vacuuming, but certainly nothing approaching the calories contained in the refried beans alone, much less the tamale and enchilada. I knew that I'd have to put in a pretty good Sunday if I wanted to finish the weekend at the same tonnage I started it with.

I thought about getting up early on Sunday and doing a bike ride before heading to the pool. But it wasn't going to be warm enough, so I just spent a few minutes stretching and lifting dumbbells before swim practice. Then it was time to go.

We started with a few drills, followed by some pace work. I'm trying to get the distance swimmers to understand how to pace a race evenly—to start out at a level of effort that seems too easy, but saves enough energy and prevents lactate buildup so that you can hold your form and cadence through the middle and the end of a long race and end up with a faster overall time with less fatigue. Everybody understands the concept, but there's still a tendency to take it out too fast and die off quickly. We did several groups of 2 x 100, trying to keep them the same.

After that, we did some timed swims, which I really enjoy. We did 4 swims on a 6-minute sendoff, with the goal being to go as far as you could while still being at a wall when the next interval started. Usually, I would expect to go 450 yards freestyle or 300 back pretty easily, but the best I could do this time were 425 free and 275 back. I got a little rest, but just didn't have the speed. I began to suspect that I was still suffering a bit of fatigue from Saturday's run.

Since the attendees were all distance/triathlete swimmers, we next moved over to the deep end and attempted to do some drafting practice. (It's a rare treat when the scuba class is not there. They tend to be either oblivious or creepy, or both...more about that on another day.) The idea was to get in a single-file line and have each swimmer follow close behind the person in front; sort of like an aquatic peloton, only without cell phone company logos on everybody's backs.

We didn't quite have enough people, though. The group fell apart fairly quickly, and while everyone was working pretty hard and getting an aerobic training benefit, the main point of the set -- the drafting practice -- was not really accomplished. Usually after we swim a set I can tell whether the swimmers loved it, hated it, or what...but this time, they just sorta looked confused. Oh well, we'll do it again when we get a few more people to show up.

It was a good practice, though, and by the end, I felt that I had been pretty well used up. I went home to do more chores, watch the Mother's Day marathon of "Eureka" on SciFi, and relax. (By the way, if you're a geek, I'd recommend Eureka -- it's entertaining, pays homage to other great scifi with inside references, and has a couple of pretty good laughs in each show. If you're not a geek, though, you'd probably think it was stupid, so this is definitely a qualified recommendation.)

By evening, though, I was ready to finish trying to atone for Saturday's burrito overload. I cleaned and oiled my bike chain and went out for a ride. I had no particular goal in mind, other than burning a few calories, so anything that didn't involve a crash or a flat tire would be good. I headed down to the C-470 bike path, and headed north.

Most of that bike path is not conducive to cycling training. There are a zillion cracks in the concrete, and the downhills are too steep and trecherous to ride down at full speed. Plus, there are typically quite a few folks out jogging, walking dogs, or two-wheel sightseeing, so you can't just crank with abandon out there. But that was fine with me for this ride.

Riding carefully, I still felt that I had gotten some exercise by the time I got to the Bear Creek Lake Park. Since I haven't done much riding yet this year, I had to decide whether I was up for going up the dam or not. I did a quick check of the sky -- doesn't look like rain, the sun will probably stay up long enough to let me do the dam loop and get back home, and there is enough cloud cover that my failure to apply sunscreen probably won't kill me -- yep, looks good. I turned right at the bike path intersection and headed up the hill.

I came up on another rider almost immediately. Falling easily into my old habits, I put the hammer down and went past him hard -- saying "hi" with the forced ease that's supposed to hide my effort and make it appear that I was just out for a Sunday stroll. Then, of course, I needed to keep the energy level high until I was far enough in front of him to ensure that he wasn't going to chase me.

[OK, at this point, I know that some of you are asking why the heck it matters if I pass a recreational rider on a park bike path on a gorgeous Sunday evening? Why can't I just enjoy the ride, and allow the other riders to do as they please, and pass me if they feel like it? Why am I such an anal-retentive, competitive, buttwad, even in a sport that is not my forté? Legitimate questions, all. Why did I wear my GPS for a ride where all I wanted to do was burn some calories? What the hell is wrong with me?

The answer is: I think I'm just an anal-retentive, competitive buttwad. I like passing people. Whether this is due to being dropped on my head as an infant, toxins in my baby formula, or gamma ray exposure from watching too many Bill Bixby TV shows, I don't know. But the fact is that on those rare occasions when I have a shot at anything that feels even remotely like victory, I want to take it. And it is those occasional little rushes that have made sports so darned enjoyable for me over all these years. It might be possible to treat this aberrant psychological condition with therapy, medicine, or electrical shock...but please don't. I like it.]

About 100 yards after I passed the other rider, I realized that I had overextended myself. Just like a breakaway rider who gets easily hauled in by the pack, I suddenly found myself wondering not only if the guy would pass me right back, but if I even had enough gas left to climb the rest of the hill. I dropped into a lower gear and tried to keep my pedal cadence going. Then I dropped into a lower gear. Ugh.

It took forever, and I'm sure I was wheezing like Wilford Brimley, but I finally made it to the top. I had not been passed, but at that point I got much more comfort from just knowing that I got to go downhill for the next several minutes. Riding my brakes the entire way, I snaked my way through the golf course and on down to the maintenance hut. Then there was the ride down the road on the back side of the dam, and then upwards again.

This time, I took a more relaxed approach to the climb. I wasn't going to worry about anyone else, just keep in a reasonable gear...and at a reasonable cadence. I didn't want to end up standing by my bike on the road shoulder, gasping for breath and waving my thumb in hopes of finding a ride home. So I commited myself to a low-stress climb.

Until I saw the guy in front of me. Part of my brain said "Dude, let it go," but another part said "You can catch this guy before the top!" Without any agreement from conscious and rational part of my cerebrum, my legs began to spin faster, and my fingers flicked the gearshift. I sped up.

Apparently, the downhill coasting had allowed me to recover a bit, because I felt pretty decent as I closed the gap on the guy in front of me. He was a hippie, with a big, long ponytail down the middle of his back. I focused on the ponytail and kept my legs spinning.

OK, it wasn't a hippie. It was a woman. No problem. I'll just have to change my greeting to "Good evening," from the "Eat my dust, you crummy hippie" I had been planning. No problem. I passed her quickly, took a drink before I started the descent down the other side, and then moved the chain onto the big ring.

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the ride. I enjoyed the weather, the beauty of the park, the wind in my face on the high-speed descent, and the inappropriate-but-still-enjoyable sense of small victories when I passed another half dozen folks on my way home. I could tell that I've got a LONG way to go to get my riding back to where it was last summer, but I realized that I'm still in love with my bicycle, and am still capable of getting a good leg workout from rolling down the road. I managed to make it home before dark, and felt that while I may not have completely undone the caloric damage from the combo plate, I had at least made some progress. I took a really hot shower, jumped in bed, and felt absolutely whipped, wasted, and wonderful.

I hope you enjoyed your weekend as much as I did. Have a great day!