Mer Lessons: A day off – my kingdom for a day off.

I completely wrecked myself from workouts, this weekend – so much so that I am actually impressed with how I was able to convince myself to continue even when everything inside me told me to quit.

So, Monday, we did a moderate ride out Pecos Road and back. Matt was still tipsy from having a few too many beers the evening prior, but he was able to push out the miles at a moderate speed, so it wound up being a nice 18 or so miles.

Tuesday, we hit the trails for a 5 mile run out the Desert Classic – just to remind ourselves that we can still muddle through in the heat.

Clearly tired of my whining due to the rise in temperatures, I did hill repeats on the bike alone on Wednesday morning. It was hard and hot – but I can tell I am improving with each climb up the big hills. (The pay-off came this weekend. Wait for it…)

Thursday, I evidently didn’t offend Matt and he joined me for over 6 miles on the Desert Classic trail, again. I wish so much that we’d stopped and taken pictures of the sun rise. As we crested the highest point, the sky was filled in the distance with bright, vivid reds – which faded into pinks and purples. But there is no picture evidence, so it will live in our memories, instead.

Friday morning I got up, before heading north for a little wine with my friend Kris, and pushed out a nice 1500 meter swim. Its weird, this time of year, I actually find myself alone in the pool during peak gym hours. Its good and bad. Having someone in the lane with me, or the lane next to me, always pushes me to work a little harder or go a little longer. Instead, I listen to my music and often forget it.

It was flag day - of course.

However, Saturday morning I agreed to meet Matt and the Curbside Cycling group for (what I thought was supposed to be) a 30 mile ride. I explained to Matt on several occasions that week that I was not really mentally equipped for another massive group ride. I hated it the first time, and have been completely disinterested since. And, I also explained that as a triathlete, I have no need to learn to ride in groups well – there’s a no draft policy by the USTA, so it does me little good to ride with a group of testosterone-riddled men on $5000-$10,000 road-bikes. Matt convinced me it would be ok and that he wouldn’t lose me, so I agreed to try it again. He also assured me that this particular group was nothing like the last, horrible group I rode with.

As we headed out of the Parking Lot of Curbside Cycles, I was already feeling sick with nerves. I was told we would ride in pairs, so while I started next to Matt, some chick showed up alone and meandered in front of us – so I had to line up next to her, instead. I gave Matt the look of death, after realizing I had no option but to ride next to her. He assured me we’d work it out after the warm-up.

Well, 8 miles later, we figured it out and I was able to ride next to Matt for the next 12-15 miles. Things seemed pretty easy – easier than I thought they’d be, for some time. Matt even commented that he was either a lot better rider than he used to be, or this group had changed from the last time he rode with them. All this commentary happened until we hit the hills of Ahwatukee and I got dropped.

I struggled up 17^th Ave – trying desperately to latch on to the group, but they were cranking away at speeds over 16 miles per hour on some of the steepest sections. I could see Matt working hard to keep up, and he did a far better job than I at doing so. He chilled at the top and allowed me to catch up to him, but I have to say – pushing 22 mph on the flats to catch him AFTER climbing that hill was NO easy feat.

And then we turned left again – onto the long, drawn out, backside of the Desert Foothills Parkway. Last week, it was my claim to fame, as I was able to hold the lead over Matt for the entirety of the climb.

After giving 17^th Ave all he had, I knew I would have a chance at kicking his ass on this long one. So, the climb started and I rode alongside Matt. Not much was said, as we were around a lot of people struggling up the hill, but we passed several. Then, a steep section, and Matt started to fall behind. I gave him a few words of encouragement, but got nothing in return. He kept up with me for a bit, but then I decided it was time to reach speeds I had never attempted on this climb. I pushed and pushed and pushed. At one point, I could not remember whether Matt was in front of me or behind me – I was focused on the pavement and reaching the top – nothing more. (For the record, he was behind me.)

Just before hitting the very top, I heard someone behind me (right behind me). “Really impressive work!” came the unfamiliar voice. I uttered something back about his work, as well. I have no idea who was trying to catch me on the climb, but I never saw him. Later Matt told me that he (and some other guy) peeled off at the top of the hill.

I met Matt at the bottom of the incredibly fun, 1.5 mile descent. He complimented me on my rush to the top and all I could do was smile. I impressed myself, for sure. We’d caught the rest of the group at this point, and continued for the rest of the ride. And, this is evidently where the boys are separated from the men. Back out on Pecos Road we were no longer doing 23-25 mph – nope. We were flying at 29-30-31+ mph. I hung as long as I could before getting passed by a guy who was not impressed with me, and then I lost my mojo. I could not keep up. The guy who held the tail moved in front of me and said, “I’m not going to drop you. Latch on!” – so I did. 28-29 mph on his wheel. It was some of the most difficult drafting I’d ever done. I was so grateful to that guy. ‘Cause clearly Matt didn’t notice I’d fallen slightly behind. There is nothing like the realization that you’re flying along at 29-30 mph and doing little drafting because the wheel of the guy in front of you is simply too stinkin’ far away. Those are proud and sad moments, all at once. I simply didn’t know I could do it – but I knew I couldn’t do it for very long. That was for certain.

By the time Matt realized I wasn’t really “with” the group, he’d practically gotten to the end of the road. He was on cloud 9 – relishing in his ability to stick with the group at those incredible speeds. It was really hard for me to be enthusiastic for him – I was exhausted and overheated.

The Curbside group made another left to climb 17^th Ave for a 2^nd time, as Matt said, “I’m going straight. I’m not going back for seconds.” (Or something like that.) They were the greatest words EVER! We continued down Pecos and up 48^th Street to the Parking Lot of Curbside Cycles. And then I carried on to my house. My bike clock said “40.7 miles” total. 30 miles, my ass. I want to know who I complain to?!

This morning, we were back on the trailhead for something I’d never done before. We headed out the Desert Classic for nearly 4 miles before making a left on the Corona de Loma trail – up and over to the north side of the mountain. Holy crap! I tried to run what I could, but it was over 1000 feet of elevation in less than a mile. My back hurt and my butt hurt, but with every switch-back came a view of the valley below. I squealed a couple of times, as the sun rose over the valley – it was simply stunning. As my watch beeped the end of the 5^th mile, I hit the top of the mountain and was exhausted. It was a different kind of exhaustion than I had ever felt. My legs were Jello, for sure.

Matt explained the next section to me, but it seemed harder than I could imagine. I ran what I could, again, and hiked what made sense to hike. By the middle of the 7^th mile, Matt and I had a come to jesus moment. It was getting pretty hot and we were both getting low on water. So, we opted to cut the 12 mile route to 10 – and I was, of course, pleased. At this point, I was no longer running – I began calling it the “Trail Shuffle” – I even sang a little song about it in my head to amuse myself through the pain at the top of the mountain.

The last couple of miles were downhill, but it was a lot of technical descending, so I was uber cautious. My legs were weak and my mental fortitude had waned 3 miles back, but was descending down the National Trail continually hoping I would see Telegraph Pass and know I was only a little over a mile from the car.

Naturally, I was so excited when I could see the bench at the top of Telegraph Pass, that during the last narrow, steep, switchback of the National Trail, I reached out to place my hand on a rock to shimmy my way down. Sadly, it was not a rock. Rather it was a darkly shaded, barrel cactus and within seconds I screamed like a baby and bled profusely as I picked every goddamned needle out of my right hand.

I was so angry at myself that I cranked my music up higher and tried to navigate the descent of Telegraph Pass as fast as my little legs (and the crowded trail) would allow me. I am sure everyone found me painfully rude as they hiked their way up and down, but I was focused and, if someone got in the way, they were going to have a palm of blood on their shirt – that was certain.

I was grateful to see Matt smiling at the base of the trail. He asked if I was still Jello-legged as we finished the last 4/10^th of a mile. I told him, “No, hell, I feel great!” (eye roll) When we hit the parking lot, I showed him my punctured right hand. His only comment… “That shit better make it into the blog,” as he laughed. It true; I was so delusional on the trail, I actually mistook a barrel cactus for a rock. I deserved what came to me.

Out of water and happy to be done, I did something I never thought possible. Just look at that elevation between mile 4 and 5. BAM!