I can still vividly remember my first metric century. Not so much the riding part, as the I’ll-eat-anything-at-arm’s-length call sent from my rumbling stomach at mile 50. It was a desperate plea for calories, and even the fumes from a nearby McDonald’s had me salivating like a dog.
Since that ride, I’ve learned to eat more mid-pedal and to slip some protein into my back pocket. But I still live for the post-ride barbecue or diner stop. Continue reading
Pick up a cycling magazine or drop yourself in the middle of any pack of young male cyclists and you’ll hear this message loud and clear: to make the most gains in this sport, you have to push yourself as far as you can, and then repeat. I went in to the sport living this mantra, and boy did I work my ass off. I showed up at group rides, the only B rider, and was forced to hang on to the wheels of the jet engine A group. On the mountain bike, I put in full days with a group of guys, forcing myself to dig into the red zone until my hamstrings couldn’t take it anymore. And on my road bike, I trained for an ambitious first century, one with 8,000 feet of climbing in the sweltering August heat.
Am I crazy? Looking back, I’m beginning to think so. Continue reading