Got my butt kicked today in a post-Death Ride Arrogance Smack Down. Shooting for 80, finished 60 and avoided at least 2000 feet of climbing. Mental and physical bonk at mile 14 or was it 12?
My legs just gave out. They had nuthin'. I stopped and nearly dry-heaved over my handlebars. Gasped for breath.
I ate a little, drank a little, but could not make myself get back on the bike. I knew how much ride was still ahead of me and just couldn't start myself. My shoes grew into the pavement, metal cleats fusing with the asphalt as I became motionless. Time passed.
I realized I was going to have to catch up with the group up the hill, if only to tell them I couldn't go on. Oh, the bitter irony of it all. I had nothing left and yet I needed to proceed. I did a 2X caffeine GU and waited for something to happen.
Finally, one of the group rode back to check on me. It was time to stop the pity party and get back on the bike. Fortunately, there was something of a short cut that we could take, and did. Still, I never felt completely 100 percent, but managed to finish the day somewhat recovered, and embarrassed, from my earlier mishap.
No doubt, my worst day on the bike in at least 2 years.
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