July 21, 2009

Malibu Triathlon Training: Day 11: Cujo

July 6
After my stint on the DL and a cautious ride on my first day back, I decided that Day 11 was a day to step it up and get back on track. There's something motivational about looking at that countdown clock over there on the right and I felt that, despite logging one of my best rides last time out, I needed to make up for the days I missed.

With that in mind, I plotted out a new route that was basically a shortened version of the loop I followed on The Crash ride, minus the unrelenting ascent of Holy Crap Hill. As usual, I flew down the first leg of the loop, which features a fun 5% downgrade that lets me approach 40 mph, depending on how Knievel-ish I'm feeling (still feeling a little shaky from The Crash, I topped out at 31 mph on this night). At the bottom of the hill, I turned the afterburners off and continued to the large intersection that features 30-second red lights. Whether it was impatience or my subconscious trying to avoid the memory of The Crash, I decided that I didn't want to wait for a green light, so I turned up the main drag and decided to improvise a little bit.

I went up about a mile, took a left, and headed toward HCH (that's Holy Crap Hill). But this time, I was attacking it from the top side, so at least I knew my lungs weren't going to explode tonight. In fact, I was gonna make HCH my bitch, because I know how gravity works and that going downhill is a lot easier than going uphill. Bitch!

So anyway, I'm going about my business and starting my descent of Holy Crap Hill, and I'm (sadly) feeling pretty good about myself after outsmarting the topography of the Earth. Then, about halfway down the hill, I glance up ahead and see a couple walking their dog. "No problem," I think to myself. "This sidewalk is nice and wide, and it's meant to be shared by pedestrians and bikes."


As a courtesy, I slowed down as I approached the dog walkers so I won't startle anyone. The next thing I know, as I'm passing them and the dog jumps up at me. Now, the details are a little sketchy because of the glare from a streetlight above, but that dog was either frothing at the mouth, baring razor-sharp teeth and glaring at me with blood-red eyes or merely nipping at my heels. I'm not 100% sure which. Needless to say, I was pissed. I had gone as far to the right as I was able, and this a-hole didn't even have the decency to shorten his devil dog's leash for 2 seconds. So naturally, as I sped away I looked back and yelled, "Control your dog. Jesus!" And this was significant. Not because I gave that dude a piece of my mind, but because I was able to look behind me and then look forward again -- without crashing!

The next 2 miles were a long, relatively flat section of wide road, so I picked up the pace and was able to score two sub-5 minutes splits (which is pretty good, considering my average pace overall is right around the 5-minute/mile mark). Unfortunately, my triumph was short lived, because reality has a way of bitch slapping you when you're not paying attention. Despite the fact that I taught Holy Crap Hill a lesson in gravity just 15 minutes earlier, I forgot that what goes up must come down. Or, in my case, what rides down the hill at 31 mph much ride UP the hill. And probably a lot more slowly.

That's right -- HCH was about to be introduced to the new sheriff in town, Hiilsborough Parkway (heretofore known as "Hellsborough," of course). While HCH features an elevation change of 160 vertical feet, Hellsborough touts a variation of 185 vertical feet. To add injury to insult, I had already surpassed the 6-mile mark at this point, meaning I had already set a new personal record for distance, and I still had another mile to go that started to look like it was straight uphill.

Needless to say, my quadriceps were pissed when I told them what was about to happen. And my lungs weren't exactly thrilled, either. I got about 1/3 of the way up the hill when said muscles and organs decided to organize and went on strike. I was in no position to argue, so I stopped. God dammit, I stopped! Oh, the humanity!

After convincing my quads and lungs to agree to my terms, we all decided it was best for everyone if we just moved on. So I did. And eventually, I made it to the top of the hill, back onto my street and up the driveway, where my body and I celebrated our longest ride to date (7.16 miles).

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