One of my blogroll friends -- forget just who -- recently wrote, "Some days you hit it just right." (Please ID yourself so I can credit you). Couldn't be more true. Today?
Today, I rode like a sparrow
36 miles and 2100 feet of climbing were gone in a flash. I only stopped for a few minutes here and there, and not because I had to, or even really wanted to. It was another case of feeling like the chainstays on my new Jamis Quest, made of beautiful steel, had sprouted powerful yet invisible wings. Pros like to say of such days, "I couldn't feel the pedals."
On all but the steepest of the grades, I fairly flew upward, and would have gone faster but for a precious piece of wisdom which age and suffering seem to have finally driven home: Just because I can, doesn't mean I should.
Joe Friel, in his valuable book, Cycling Past 50, declares that middle-aged endurance athletes should always return home from a training ride with a little bit left in the tank. Excellent advice, which generally ensures that my mood and energy stay high all week, and that I have that little extra zing on said goal event.
In my next post, I'll give into the temptation to quantify what went so right, but for today, I hear the voices of my wonderfully philosophical -- and similarly middle-aged -- blog friends (see blogroll, to the right) singing out, "Just enjoy it for what it is, don't try to capture it!"
Good point, friends! I enjoyed the heck out of it while I was riding and I still am. I went out with Mrs. V to run an errand an hour ago, and strutted around with my chest puffed out, feeling all studly and athletic. "The local hero, folks, running his weekend chores after another routine fabulous feat; observe!"
As the inimitable Toby Keith put it so succinctly, "I ain't as good as I once was/But I'm as good once as I ever was." I was going to link to that song, but, knowing the general populace's response to country music, I'll leave you with another tune that aptly sums up the day. David Wilcox was my songwriter hero for many years, and this is one I still chant to myself on mile 30 of a fifty-miler:
Next: Let the pointless obsessing begin!