My training for the last two weeks could be best be described as Adventures in DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness). The half marathon laid a serious hurt on me. Sunday I tried to do as little as possible. Monday, 48 hours post event, was the worst day, after that it got better. This has always been the pattern for me. Second day equals maximum soreness.
Tuesday I did my first 30-minute recovery run. It was sad. I basically ran a mile loop in the neighbor hood. I would jog from mailbox to mailbox and then walk from mailbox to mailbox or about 100 yards. Rinse, lather, repeat. I did feel a bit better the next day. Thursday my second recovery run went better. I ran a quarter mile walked about 100 yards and repeated until time was up. Saturday I ran 3 miles slowly. Runs the second week went much better.
I also started trying to get serious about my bike training for a sprint triathlon in mid-June. I was lucky enough to catch a beginner group ride with my local cycling club. It turned out to be the president of the cycling club, a guy named Bob and me. Bob was wearing a really cool NC State cycling jersey. We were instant friends.
It was a fairly short, slow ride by cycling standards about 12 miles at about an 11 mph pace. I kept up pretty well. I had just converted to clipless pedals so I was a little nervous about my ability to stop without falling over and start again without looking like bicycle version of Monte Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks.
The bike guy was amazing. He had to keep checking that he hadn’t rode off and left us behind. On downhill stretches he would ride between us just to make sure. We were riding up this long steep hill. I was in my lowest gear, slowly pedaling at about say 3 rpm, trying to stay within 50 yards of the guy.
My internal monologue was something like: Gasp, Wheeze, God please get me up this hill. The bike guy was carrying on a conversation like he was sitting at home on his couch. He said: “Of course that was back in the 90s, and things were different then.” My internal monologue was something like: Gasp, Wheeze, oh God, oh God.” The bike guy was saying: “then we had our second child.” My internal monologue was something like: Gasp, Wheeze, God have mercy, God have mercy.” The bike guy was saying: “So I decided to go back to school and get my masters.” Maybe one day I’ll be able to bike and talk at the same time.