slouching toward virginia beach

went to track again last night hoping our workout would be something like "nap like a kittycat in the sun ‘til dusk," but fisch dealt us 600s and 300s instead. while we lazily contemplated a warmup, the steeplechaser was finishing up his 40x200m workout, knocking out his fast 200s in the low 30’s and slowing down maybe 10 sec on the backstretch.

he ran 5 miles straight, toggling between 4min and 5:20min mile pace while fisch timed and hen and i gaped. i was drooling out the side of my mouth like that guy who turns into toad in O Brother Where Art Thou; hen was uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

- damn – was the only thing he could come up with.
- he makes it look so easy – i contributed.

you have the steeplechaser run an 8min mile and he looks just like the rest of us mortals, kinda hurky-jerky but bobbingly determined. but you loose the jesses & leash and he soars into fluid flight, tilting into a widening gyre like he was born to be flying at that height, at that speed. at 4 minutes a mile.

snap back to reality, oh there goes gravity

- so, any du’s or tri’s coming up? – MB asked during the warmup we eventually got around to.
- um, yeah. this weekend. du.
- is that the one down in virginia beach?
- yep.
- it’s a qualifier for worlds, isn’t it?
- yep.
- what are the run & bike distances?
- i’m not sure. i got a sharp look for that answer. well, i know it’s short-course – i said feebly. then i rallied. i got a new bike, see, and i’m relying solely on it to get me through this race. bite my lip, squeeze my eyes together, will he bite, will he?

- oh?? what kind of bike? YES!!! and we are off to the races, cos if i don’t know shit about the VA du, i can bore you to tears with tedious facts about my bike.

still, while i rattled off componentry and composites, weight and speeds, i realised that even this diatribe highlighted my half-assed approach to the upcoming season. i still don’t have a bike computer, which is pretty vital for measuring your progress across the course (assuming you know how long it is); i still don’t have a 10-speed cassette for my zipps, and my new bike won’t run off a 9-speed one; and every 15 miles a couple bolts drop out of one of my cranks and i have to stop to find them and screw them back in with little rocks or other stuff i find in the road.

and consider my lack of focused training and the fact that i’ve done just one brick this year. and transitions? let’s not even go there cos i’m getting the fuck negged out. the only transitions i’ve practised are Guinness to Smithwicks to Bushmills with results unpredictable at best.

but the beat goes on…

beautiful night at the track: temps warm enough to keep you limber, with a cool, invigorating breeze on the backstretch. UD’s women’s 4x100 relay team was in the outer lanes practising their handoffs at speed, passing off the baton in a flash of metallic red; and during our recovery intervals we marveled at their turnover.

– i can’t see her feet. is she even wearing shoes? – wondered MB.
- i can’t tell. all i see is a dervish of leg.
- no shoes. how cool would that be - mused Queen T, who maintains a princess & the pea relationship with her shoes – they’d never feel funny or come untied.

the rhapsody, and the reality.