First, I think the Google Street View car is stalking me. It has driven by my work, caught me at a number of intersections, and followed me briefly at least twice while I was bike commuting. I was even taking a totally unplanned trip today when guess what pulled up next to me? GOOGLE STREET VIEW CAR!
Google, if you want me that much, just send some spooky men in black with a van or something. The car is freakin' me out.
In other news, our club does a few regular events together. Several members of the club are getting ready for Ironman Canada.
Yeah, I'm so not there yet.
I still think I'm super-fast and spiffy when I can churn out a sub-10 minute mile. I know, blazing, right? In this town of Olympian runners, I think the Road Runner himself would feel slow and pokey. I'm so slow and pokey I don't even quite know from pokey.
Anyway, Monday M and I went to the lake to do a swim. I was going to practice the jump-in-and-swim start, but the Park Ranger caught on to us and told us we could swim... but we could not jump. Ain't no arguing with the Park Ranger. I'm working on stroke consistently and trying to get tips, which mostly means that M says things like, "Well, you sort of pull and push so you feel consistent tension" and tries to convince me he's not that good a swimmer. For the record, he swam on a swim team. That means he's way faster than me. My triceps are still tired.
Tuesday we went out for the regular brick. M volunteered to timekeep. I think my first two miles were 9 minute 20 or 30 second miles. My bike went really well- for most of the ride, I was cruising at 19 to 23 mph, with hardly any effort. And then I got hit by the wind.
Oh, wind, why do you hate me so? I weep on the windswept plains, as you bring the smell of the nearby stables to assail my delicate nostrils and my legs light up on fire as I crank, desperate for cover and relief from your relentless onslaught.
But then I jumped off and had a superfast transition (:31) and went off on the last run with a sub-9 minute mile. (According to the Timing King, M.) That made me feel supremely speedy. And no, don't ask me where it came from. I just felt pretty good and entirely consumed by the terror that I would be dead last.
For the record, the girl who was "last" is so much more secure than I and was doing the brick after a TRX workout, thus confirming that she is Toughness And Iron while I am Squishy Putty in comparison.
Yesterday, we went on a bike ride. And while bike rides are usually extremely fun... our Fearless Leader said he had a short time yesterday, so we needed a tough bike in a short timeframe. So he took us up every single huge steep hill in Eugene, so I was so tired I couldn't even pedal enough to build up speed on the downhill. This meant that yeah, I was Dead Last all yesterday.
And M took a wrong turn and so he was lost in the middle of nowhere for a while and Fearless Leader had to chase him down to save him because I couldn't catch him even though I tried because M thought he was the last in the group and so he was going WAY too fast. So my beloved had run away and left me... at the wrong intersection. All this, by the way, as I was trying to drink some Gatorade and swallowed down the wrong bike so I was burping like a bullfrog while my system reset itself. It was a smidge awkward. "M! STOOOOOP! (burp) COME BACK!!!!! (burp)!"
I started out the ride saying swear words under my breath until I was too breathless to swear as we ground up the highest hills in the known universe. (My Virginia friends can think Richmond to Fredericksburg... kinda like that.) Then I had a damn lot of fun descending all those hills. Then I ground up the hills again because Fearless Leader faked me out and I thought we were all done with hills so I hadn't saved any internal fuel. I didn't even have any energy left to even think swear words. And then M missed his turn and I spent about 15 minutes convinced he'd ridden away into the wilds of Oregon where he'd be eaten by a nutria...
Let's just say that emotionally, I got a little worked up and over on this ride.
Today, I hear we are going hills running on Spencer Butte, which is so far one of my favorite places to play in Oregon. If I can get my seatbelt unjammed, I'll be filled with joy. Don't ask me what the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks I did to jam my seatbelt so hard, but that thing is STUCK.