The need for speed

I need to go quicker.  It's a month into the time-trial season, and I'm not tearing up any shrubs.  I'm still a full minute slower than I was this time last year.  This despite the fact that I'm on a better and, you'd have to hope, faster machine.  Perhaps I'm over thinking it?  Perhaps I'm not?  Perhaps both?

Last night's attempt at cycling immortality was actually faster than the previous week's, but not by much.  Worse still was the fact that I felt like I was flying, and yet I still could not break the mythical 28 minute barrier.  I used to post 27 minute times at a canter and think very little of it.  What's happened in 12 months?  I'm probably lighter now than I was then.  Maybe I'm being too conservative.  Maybe I just need to give it the beans, as they say.  That said, I was shattered by the time I sprinted across the line last night - absolutely spent.  I don't believe I could have gone harder in the final 2 miles had someone pointed a blunderbuss at me.  I need, I think, to get angry, like Mr T.  I might black up next week, to spur myself on.  On second thoughts...

So, off training tonight.  I really should apply some science to my training, but it's turgid stuff, to be honest.  I'm not sure I could put myself through it.  What I do need to do is improve my VO2 max, which is about as much fun as it sounds, by the way.

Ho, hum...

Legless in Seattle

Ooh, the legs hurt today.  Well, not really hurt, but they're under the weather, certainly.  I competed in a 10-mile time trial last night for the first time in 14 years, and don't I know it.  I've managed to keep a fair degree of fitness over the years, what with commuting and training, but training is nothing compared with racing.  Racing marks a real step up in intensity.  I'd forgotten this until about a mile and a half into it when my central nervous system started sounding the fire bell.

It really takes some self-procession at times like this not to pack-up and start weeping.  I'm proud to say that I managed to take stock and recover some composure.  My physical well being wasn't helped by my being woefully under-geared.  I'd never ridden this circuit before and had to take a guess on what would be appropriate.  Actually, I didn't take a guess; I simply turned-up on what I had under me yesterday and hoped for the best.  Unfortunately, the track was like shit off a shovel and I couldn't stay up to speed on the flats without spinning like the crankshaft on v-reg Escort RS-2000.

The worst aspect of all this is that I ended the torture thinking I'd acquitted myself pretty well, thank-you.  Sadly, the timekeepers thought otherwise.  I wasn't the slowest by any manner of means, but there were quite a few lame and aged individuals among the starters, so I shouldn't take too much succour from that.

As is always the case with time trialling, the winner appeared to be turning over his pedal cranks slowly and with ease, and yet was averaging 30mph.  Had he been built like concrete shithouse, this wouldn't have been too dispiriting.  As it was, though, he looked just like the rest of us.  He just had a bigger engine. 

That's endurance sport for you.  She's a bastard.