Bad Idea Training Day 1 and 2

Saturday I woke up, got my oatmeal and coffee going, and stared at my monitor. I switched between views of the local green schmeared radar and the very often updated shermanbranch.com (a site devoted entirely to a great local trail with more info than you can shake a trail info shaking stick at). By 8:10 am a window of opportunity became apparent, and if I moved fast it looked like I could squeeze two 11.25 mile laps in... but only if I moved fast.

I was out the door by 8:40am, and on the trail by 9:00am. Within minutes I went anaerobic and kept it pegged the whole time. About an hour later I hit my second lap, and less than half way through I ran into some friends who I know can normally push me to my limit. Evidently they weren't on their normal nut-busting agenda, so I bid them adieu and kept on pursuing to the next stop.

With less than fifteen minutes to go I could feel my tank running low. My oatmeal from 6:45 was officially used up, and I got back to the car on fumes. Day one of Bad Idea Training was in the books.

The next obvious step in training would be to follow up two hours of anaerobic riding with 45 minutes of concentrated hell... in other words I suited up in my new sleeveless Bolt Brothers jersey (lacking a MOOTS jersey and for that matter a MOOTS bike) and entered the single speed class at our local short track series. I knew I'd be in for some serious suffering being that the guy I used to be able to go one-two with a few years ago (Ross Dowswell) finished fourth last week.

All photos courtesy of ARSBARS

Since I knew what I know I realized that the old skool "line up at the front and gun for a hole-shot" wasn't gonna work with this crowd I lined up in the second row. There didn't seem to be much sense in getting to the woods first just to drift back through the pack for 45 minutes. I was always used to get into the narrow opening in the woods in the top three (of maybe ten guys), so I found it quite interesting trying to funnel into the slot three wide at least six or seven spots back in a pack of twenty plus. Elbows and mayhem for what seemed like minutes (but was probably all of three seconds) as we shuffled in like a disorderly deck of cards.

I watched as the lead group flew out of sight, and I held my place in the conga line with the other "not ready for prime time players". By the second lap things shook out, and I was somewhere in the back of the top ten hanging out in some kind of purgatorial no man's land. Halfway through the race I no longer had contact with anyone in front or behind me, and the only excitement came from passing the occasional lapped rider. I decided it was time to set some goals, so the thought of not getting lapped became my inspiration to push myself.

Since this was theoretically some kind of unplanned and inadvisable training I kept it red-lined the whole time. Except for getting caught behind a lapped rider on the narrow trails I was able to ride hard enough that my face stayed contorted in pain for at least 43 of the 45 minutes I spent in the saddle. About one minute into my second to last lap I heard the announcer calling out "one lap to go" to the lead group behind me (I assume it was a group, but it could have been an individual since I hadn't seen the leaders for the last half hour). I knew my hollow victory of not being lapped was all but guaranteed, and I felt slightly (only slightly) better about my day.

I finished. I have no idea how I did, but I finished. The first weekend of Bad Idea Training is now in the books.