Not really. More like it was a slap in the face, kick in the pants, laugh in your face, wake up call.
Just so you know, I don’t take well to criticism. Often I tend to argue the point, even when I’m wrong, and even beyond my own realisation of my wrongness. But there are some points that can’t be argued. And there are some entities that can’t be argued with.
One of those times is when your own body laughs sarcastically in your face and calls you a slow fat joke. Not a boring joke about a fat person, but a slow moving, fat person, who is a joke.
Wednesday night is the local club training night at the velodrome. 2 weeks ago I drove to the velodrome only to have the whole show rained on and called off. Last week I had to work at the pizza shop (Australia’s 2 biggest rugby league playing states put together an all star team and play best of 3 during May/June). This week I drove the 50km (30mi) and spent 2 hours buzzing around with a dozen other frozen fools. Yes, it was the last day of autumn, or more accurately, the day before winter and at 7pm it was 10°C (50°F). Not ideal conditions for cycling wearing a thin layer of sweat and a thin layer of lycra.
As I pulled my bike out of the car, I could feel my heart rate rise a little. The velodrome had a familiar feel about it. The sounds and smells were like old friends returned. Out on the track, the little bump halfway through the final bend was still exactly as I remember it. I never once tried to stop pedalling on the track bike.
I rolled with the bunch warming up at 20mph, took turns at 25mph. Then they brought out the motorbike for some speed work. I hung tough at 27-28mph for not very many laps. Then everyone was doing 5 lap solo runs and calling their own pace on the motor. I just let him take me at 25 and gently roll up to 28, then I came over the bike on the last bend to register a maximum of 34mph.
Slow fat joke.
So there’s no glory at the velodrome this week. Coming off the bike used to be a 40mph event for me. Even 42-43mph occasionally. So there’s plenty of work to be done. Fortunately these sessions are every Wednesday 51 weeks a year, so I can hit them hard and build heaps of speed. Next week I’ll start chasing cement trucks for some speed work closer to home. I’ve got until mid-October to get myself into racing form.
I hereby dub my entry from last week (27 May), Revolution II. And as the revolution unfolds, I’ll keep you all up to date. This new Revolution replaces the New Years Revolution. That has served its purpose setting up a good foundation of habits for me to build on. Now I’m moving into a new phase. A tough phase. From now until mid-July I’m on intensive activity alert.
I’ve got 5280km (3279mi) planned for the next 7 weeks. Except that it started last weekend. So here’s the good news. The first 7 days had a goal of 556km (345mi). Now I’m a failure. It’s after sunset on day 7 and I only managed to squeeze in 528km (328mi). Slow fat joke.
The grand goal equates to an average of 103km (64mi) per day for 7 weeks. I’m pretty sure the weight loss will just take care of itself if I just stick to the mileage goal. Here’s hoping.