I came off the AZT injured.
I didn’t really think much of it at the time…a sore knee. After 50-some odd hours of pedaling, joints are allowed to be sore.
Two weeks off the bike for ‘recovery’ had me forgetting about it.
A little hour spin reminded me it was there. Riding some rocks told me something wasn’t quite right. A day of chunk riding that involved downhill hike-a-bike ruined me. I rode stuff simply because it hurt too bad to walk. I fessed up to LW when I got home.
She told me, ‘I told you so’ with regards to my blowing off quad/glute work in exchange for yoga all winter. Then she told me that I probably needed another week of recovery anyhow. She, again, was right.
I went through every range of emotions during the last two weeks. The good, the bad, and the really ugly. I threatened myself with retiring from bike racing.
Today, I got the go-ahead to do a wicked hard set of intervals. A workout that I normally despise.
Today, I loved every single pedal stroke. I loved fighting the black dots clouding my vision for the last 10 seconds of each effort. I relished the conscious effort to not puke on the side of the road when each one was done.
Pre-injury, I was grumping out about ‘training’ this summer. Maybe, once again, the Universe gave me exactly what I needed, it just wasn’t in the form that I was expecting. Maybe I won’t retire from bike racing after all…I’ve got an abusive trail of a girlfriend who needs tending to.