Vomit at 35 MPH

I've never been a very good cyclist. I did it competitively in college for a couple years, but mostly for yucks, so I could be on a team and travel and stay in hotels and get up early in the morning to race in the beginners category with a bunch of skittish newbies in a pack. It was good fun, but I never really got it down. I just didn't have the leg muscles, or the motivation, or the money to spend on a fancy bike.

Well, now I have a fancy bike, as you can see. It's pretty and light and very, very fast and when I pedal on it it actually goes, which is a whole new thing for me. Sorry Snuggles, you were a good bike for nearly 15 years, but I've given you up for a lighter model. A lighter model that was custom built for me. Can you blame me?

All this to say that I've found hill climbing-- the one part of biking that I was actually pretty decent at-- all the easier, and now seem to have made myself the reputation as being fast on the uphill. Now, this isn't that big a deal. When guys get together for athletic type endeavors, we like to engage in this sort of bizarre exchange of trash talk and complements. You tell someone they're fast, then you make fun of his jersey. You complement his fancy new bike and then tell him he'll need all the help he can get to keep up. It's all in good fun. Problem is, as lighthearted as it may be, this hill climbing rep is something that my over-competitive ass feels it needs to maintain now that it's been thrust upon me. This, of course, meant that I had to be first up every time in our Saturday hill repeat session and I was, at the near cost of vomiting my granola bar and the half cup of eggnog I so unwisely consumed before the workout.

I'm getting old. Why can't I just let it go?

Because I'm not old yet.

Day 7 of training:
Group rides: 2
Resistance training: 3
Spin classes: 1
Pool Swims: 1
Maintenance Runs: 1
Ocean Swims: 1


OH yeah. I still need your help.