One of the most important skills in group bicycle riding is the fabrication of believable excuses for falling off the back. It could have been the plyos and my inability to walk normally going into the ride. Or the lack of training for three weeks. Or yesterday's core workout that left me unable to even turn my head and cough without torso pain. Or the poor pacing on my part. Or the fact that I'm still not at ease with my new brake shifter thingys. Or the cold/flu I had last week.
But today I choose not to provide an excuse. Instead, I choose a more constructive option: assigning blame.
You see, it's all Marc's fault. He said, and I quote, "lead me out" which indicates that I should go off the front to give him an aerodynamic advantage for a sprint. Which I did. With the guy in green. And then we were two idiots off the front. Alone. Trading the wind on the rollers. So that when the poorly-timed hills came I was whupped. And there was apparently no sprint.
Clearly, Marc's fault.
I chased for about fifteen minutes with the pack right there. Almost had them a couple times and would have caught them at the store stop. But there was no store stop today. And I made a couple wrong turns which the GPS corrected but 150 meters is 300 meters plus momentum by the time you get back on course. So I settled into my own rhythm for the ride back to atlanta. Can't complain really. Had my tunes and a road bike. Because who wants aerobars when you have wind in your face on a straight road for 30 miles? Oh.
Chilly cold today but I seemed well geared up for it. Toes cold but not super frozen.
Made it to the end of the airport ride and then realized I had no idea how to get back to Outback bikes. Down to MLK blvd. Up to North Ave. Down to Carter Center. Finally to Little 5. Marc and Dana were still there and it was good to catch up. Marc says I haven't fallen off a ride in three years. I'm not so convinced but I'll take it.
Hi to Michael who I met a while back at the Pizza Ride and who said hello today.
Maybe I should, you know, start to train again. I told Marc and Dana earlier this week that I can only fake it for so long. A prophet of my own demise. Or, maybe I should be smart about conserving energy in the pack. Nah.
Post-Ironman Melancholy