Here We Go Again: Fruity in Fruita

Pippit in my front yard May 1st next to chairs I should be sitting on with a beer soaking up the afternoon sun.  Whatever.

It's gotten to the point with this weather where I feel like I feel at mile 85 of a 100 mile race - beyond suffering and resigned to bleak acceptance with the fading rational hope that it will end soon.  The only difference is that with this weather I can escape to the warm desert in a fairly short drive.  This will be the third week out of the last four that I've done just that.  Get me the fuck out of here.  It snowed for 24 hours straight (every minute of it) yesterday and is 15 degrees currently this morning.  By early afternoon I'll be in 70 degree weather on dry sun baked trails.  Get me the fuck out of here, indeed.

As the morning progressed (or degraded, more like it) yesterday, my motivation to run met a similar demise.  Tuesday I got in my first good run since Zion (heck it was only 10 days after but felt like months).  I just headed out with no real intention and ended up with a nice 1:40 run with some decent power and snap and, most importantly, enjoyment.  Feels good to be up high again breathing probably the purest clean air found in the US.  It was a good run on several levels and gave me time to think clearly instead of the normal cacophony of clamoring thoughts and images and words in my head.  I'm looking forward to a similar retreat during the 18 hours of solo racing this weekend.  Just me, many miles of single track, and my bike (Hope), along with a bunch of VFuel and chamois cream...

The break in consistent training surrounding the Zion 100 has been both pleasant and nerve twisting.  "Am I losing fitness?"  "Are my legs getting softer?"  "Is that yet another grey hair in my sideburns?"  The reality, of course, is that things are fine (except for the grey hair).  Tomorrow night, starting at midnight (god, how I'll stay awake that late just to make it to the start line is beyond me - I'm typically in bed before 9) I'll be lined up amongst 100s of uber bright head and handlebar lights with visions of my Temecula crash swirling around with familiar adrenaline and excitement of what a day and and half of constant racing will bring.

Most of my excitement in heading back to Fruita (other than warm sun and riding) is visiting Dennis and Mary again.  They're likely getting sick of me (and Pippit) and the fact that every time I see them I've either just finished a 100 mile run, broken some ribs and thumb, or generally beat the hell up and hobbling around their nice home while they cast glances my way that I perceive as wondering whether I'll die from my crippling lifestyle mixed with hopes of regaining their peace and privacy at some point.  Regardless, both Pippit and I enjoy every minute spent with them.