As often as once a week, I arrive at the park to do my workout…and just sit in the car. I start going over the reasons I need to get out and get going, which conflict with all the better reasons to just drive home and blow it off. This was one of those evenings. There was nothing in particular that was causing the wrestling match in my conscience…but I just couldn’t make myself get out of the car and get suited up. I regularly communicate with an old friend from my childhood who now lives in Seattle, where it seems to rain eighty percent of the time, and who never seems to let it stop her from running. As a final effort to get going, I texted her requesting a brow-beating to get me started. She didn’t come through…and I drove home.
Guilt began to eat at my gut as I sat in my office…opposite my trainer…and searched Netflix for a program about Fenway Park and a documentary on its first 100 years as the home of the Boston Red Sox. For some unknown reason…maybe it was Linda in Seattle reaching out to inspire me…I typed ‘Lance Armstrong’ into the search box and hit enter. A documentary popped up called ‘Hell on Wheels’ which was a documentary based on a German team racing competing in the 2005 Tour de France. It was available for viewing. It was also 8 p.m. and Holly had just arrived with groceries from BJ’s and the intention of making a dinner of grilled Salmon. When she asked me what I was going to do, I sheepishly admitted my plan to get on the trainer.
“You haven’t done your workout yet? If I wait for you to do it now…it’ll be 11 o’clock before we eat,” she said with disgust.
“Um…I could wait until after dinner,” I said.
But she knew me and knew I wanted to ride now and acquiesced. The ride was on.
Personally, I get quite motivated by watching others do something I know I would love to do…but can’t. The Tour de France is without doubt the single toughest competition on the planet. The agony of racing daily for up to six hours…for three weeks…is beyond the comprehension of all but those who have done it. I have raced for over five hours on a bike as part of the Iron Man triathlon and know the agony of being in the saddle for that long; pushing hard the entire time. To think of doing that even on consecutive days leaves me feeling weak…what they do is absolutely inconceivable to me. Watching just one mountain stage and comparing their climbing at heart rates approaching 200 for hours and comparing that to how I feel having climbed 10 minutes on the Iron Lung – Old Mill Road – leaves me humbled by their ability to endure pain, conditioning, and dedication to their sport…particularly when they know they will have to get up the next day and climb another ‘beyond category’ series of mountains.
I rode for 75 minutes…I could have gone longer but I’d told Holly I’d be an hour and I like to keep my lies within reason. By the time I’d showered it was 10 p.m., and we decided it was too late for a dinner. We opted instead for a lighter snack and a movie. I chose a huge fruit smoothie and sipped it with a good deal of satisfaction. I’d turned on off-day into a decent workout. Thank you guilt, Linda…and Lance.
Bike Duration: 75 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories burned during workout: 1050.
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