Ridge Runout: Sept '26 E'dish

Despite knowingly suffering from extreme garvel exhaustion, I succumbed to peer pressure and joined some frands heading to the third Ridge Runout Garvel event.  I haven't ridden a mountain bike since August 30th, and I've only had 1.25 rides on my new squishy Maximus, but I still figured why not?  

I guess I found out why not.

I acknowledge that jet lag is a real thing, but that said, I like to think I don't suffer human problems like hunger, sleepy, or true bliss.  That said, I didn't do a lot of what you're supposed to do to recover from time traveling backwards six hours after an international flight, and I spent most of my week yawning at work, and passing out drooling on the couch.  Yet still, I figured my body would respond appropriately when asked. 

The course had changed for the good and also the bad.  A new non-neutral start had an added climb before the long early descent that would certainly break the group up and reduce traffic issues and all the associated passing "fun" at 21 mph+.  That's the good.  The bad?  There were portions of the climb that were up a more than 20% gradient.  

Wheels, say goodbye to the bus.

Türd. Nick, and I had discussed riding this together for funsies, but I pointed out that they are much faster on the descents than I am.  Now?  They are distancing me on climb numero uno.  My heart rate is just not aligning with the effort, so I know something isn't working for me.  I did catch a glimpse of Türd ahead of me on the slight dip before the million mile descent, but that was it.

I lived through the ass and hand pounding downhill, trying to keep the weight off my saddle sore that first started rearing its ugly head the week before Girona.  Nick, Türd, and Dung were waiting at the bottom, but I mumbled something about "leaving me" or "being on my own journey."  Or at least I said it in my head.  We rolled most of the flats together, but I kept trying to get away from them, either surging ahead or falling off the back.  I just needed to suffer in my own way and get to the finish line.

When we rolled into the aid station before the long climb back home, I strongly reiterated that I'd like to be left for dead.  Türd and Dung complied, and I ate chips whilst Nick added air to his saggy front tire.  He was kind enough to roll with me for a bit before asking if I wanted company.

"No.  Please.  No."

And like that, he rolled away and left me to toil miserably up the remaining 8.9 miles of climbing solo... but at least I could listen to my Shuffle Mini whilst ticking away at the yellows, oranges, and reds on my Wahoo data acquisition device.

I don't remember the last time I sweated that profusely or suffered so much.  Obviously, I was nowhere near recovered or ready for such an endeavor, but live, learn, repeat.
 

All in all, no regrets.  I had fun hanging out afterwards, and I didn't die... so there's that.  It was a worthy event to make me stronger whilst feeling weaker and human.

And to reinforce my beliefs that bouncing back wasn't happening, Dr Mike and I went for a mountain bike ride on Sunday, and our usual 20-25 mile Whitewater Center amble quickly got cut down to 14 miles when we both admitted to each other we were absolutely whooped. 

The plan is now this:

The Pie and I are continuing the whole "ships passing in the night" thing that has been the last two weeks for almost another month.  I'm going to take this week to do as little as possible and go to bed at a decent hour to see if I can turn this thing around.  I get a weekend off, and then it's The Watershed Race followed closely by the Single Speed World Championships.  

Buenos.  Bring on the mayhem (after I catch my breath).