The Dirt Field

I missed my training last week as a result of an untimely bout of bronchitis, so naturally I had to come back twice as hard this week to make up for lost time. Despite promising The Coach that I would ease into training gradually, I rode 17.75 hours since last Saturday and started the strength training phase of my winter weightlifting. Now I’m exhausted and limping around.

Today’s ride was challenging. It began terribly; icy cold with a sore back and flat legs. My riding partner, henceforth known here as Riding Partner, was feeling nimble and quick and immediately dropped me. He then dropped me another half dozen times, which felt incredibly awesome and inspiring (read: I collapsed mentally). The whole affair was pathetic.

Let’s get my excuses out of the way: I was short on sleep, long on recently-logged riding hours, and fatigued from the new weightlifting program. All of those are acceptable reasons for feeling like shit physically, but not for crumpling like a little bitch. I am supposed to be a pro; as my coach would tell me, that means I need to behave like a professional and suck it up on the rough days by not complaining, dragging ass, and giving up.

Sadly, I did the first two in excess and cut Riding Partner’s limited training time short as a result. He was kind about it and would never tell me that I was basically dead weight, but let’s be honest: nobody goes riding with another racer because they’re hoping for a relaxing stroll in the woods. I could forgive myself for being tired, but it’s rather hard to get over having a defeatist, whiny attitude.

After Riding Partner left, I sat in my car and debated about whether or not to ride more. It was supposed to be a 3-hour ride, and I was nowhere close. I’d like to say I went back out and had a totally awesome time, but that would be a lie. It was brutal; I did two more laps of the trail and also doubled back to make up for the short cuts I’d taken earlier. Everything hurt and I was slow, but I did it and it felt damn good to finish with some self-respect intact.

Thinking of myself as a pro is sometimes a big ego boost (“Dude! I’m a pro!”) and sometimes a big burden (“Must ALWAYS ride like a pro!”). I haven’t learned to not care what people think, to be confident enough in my skills and training to be satisfied with sucking my way through a ride and knowing that it was a learning experience. I suppose it comes down to always wanting to ride in a way that makes everyone certain I’m going to win the World Championships one day, and when that doesn’t happen, it feels like shit.

That sounds incredibly stupid. I know what I want from my cycling career and what needs to happen if these goals are to be realized. Who cares if the work in progress looks like a mess? Surgery, when interrupted, looks very much like murder. It’s time to start acting like a pro, even on the most exhausting days. As The Coach would say, “The rides that make you win races are the ones where you feel terrible, the weather sucks, and you hate your bike.”