I’m not a millionaire, not even close, I don’t have a life insurance policy, and until recently I was pretty sure Mario hadn’t secretly taken one out on me. But then there was yesterday: 80 km on a bike, 4 days after racing my half marathon, and 9 days before having to race my full marathon. Oh yes, there was a lot of cursing going on, some under my breath, and some quite clearly vocal.
YESTERDAY’S RIDE:
- 10 a.m. BG before: 9.6
- Temp. basal: -50 per cent
- Distance: 80 km
- Average speed: 20.8 km/hour
- Time: 3:48:00
- @10 km BG: 8.0 @45 km BG: 4.9 (lunch, no bolus = big mistake!) @65 km BG: 14.4 (bolus 2.00 units)
- 3 p.m. BG after: 11.1
- Temp. basal +50 per cent (1.5 hours)
Because the sun was still shining yesterday and because Mario and I hadn’t been out on the bike in quite some time, and because it’s not often we get to ride together on a weekday, and because I hadn’t done much (and by much I mean anything) since racing the half on Sunday, we decided to go for a ride. I had no idea he was banking on 80 km!!!
While I can run for miles and miles, this is only the second ride in my cycling history of clocking in at 80 km. The first 80 km ride happened just one and a half months into my cycling resurgence, when I told Mario I wanted to be challenged. So, with me on a my fold-up bike, we rode to Horseshoe Bay and for those of you who know the area, you know it’s pretty much a non-stop hill. Needless to say, probably about the third hill in the curses and dirty looks were flying strong. This time around, Mario invited a buddy of his to come along, which meant I’d pretty much be riding solo, which normally isn’t a huge deal. However, when you’re consistently trailing by like 50 car lengths, then it becomes a big deal.
And the worst of it, this buddy of Mario’s had only just taken up cycling weeks ago, whereas I’ve been riding for a good three or four years. I tried to justify my turtle pace: His leg muscles were much more manly than mine (thank God!) but his had hair and mine didn’t; advantage me. I’d rode all the way from New West, whereas he’d only joined us at UBC; advantage him. I’d just raced a half marathon, my muscles were fatigued, but he’d just gone through a life-change that could slow anyone down; advantage me.
Was it a murder plot planned by the both of them? Do-do-doooooooo!
Not one reason I came up with made it any better. My legs were dying, aching with fatigue, they didn’t want to go any further, and my mindset wasn’t helping matters. With every kilometre that clicked on my bike computer, the blazing ball of red fury that was glowering from my eyes burned ever brighter. And then, I nearly burst when I saw the tiny dots of Mario and his buddy approach Blanca Street. “There is no F$#@^%*# way I am going down there,” I spat out. See, I’ve ridden this route quite a few times with Mario and while normally we go the opposite way, I knew where this road would lead – DOWN to Jericho Beach. And just like gravity what goes down must come up and that hill is a friggin’ bitch on fresh legs not to mention mushed out legs. They turned. He was lucky, because had he not, I may have very well have taken my own insurance policy out on him! Just saying…