Wasted but wanting

I am wrecked. Wasted. Shelled and spent. In the words of Ben Kweller—maxxed out like a credit card. I just got back from the Tuesday lunch bike ride in Santa Cruz. Today’s edition was especially gruesome. It’s always a bit more than casual. High intensity, high speed, high testosterone. Twenty-seven miles or so…out Highway 1 from town, up Bonny Doon Road to the top, turn around and come back. Headwind on the way out, bitch of a climb up, then a no-holes barred attack fest on the return.

Bonny Doon climbs something like 2000 feet in four or five miles. It hurts going slow. It hurts even more trying to keep up with the guy four cubes down. It absolutely kills to try and match pace with the former pro racer guys and gals in the bunch (not that I’ve ever stayed with them for long). My form is far from ideal for this time of year, which doesn’t help, but I’m not complaining.

Despite the pain, despite the lactic build-up, despite the “am I going to puke this time?” doubt, I love every cardiac minute of it. I am high on something indescribeable from within. I am a kook.

So I’d like to thank all my ride mates for kicking my ass. It feels great and I can’t wait to do it again next week.