Plan, Adjust, Repeat

Who cares how the sausage is made if the sausage sucks?

As a middle aged man trying to prepare for an event, any event, I am in a constantly adjusting my plans to address the seemingly endless stream of disruptions and unexpected challenges. 

A pulled muscle, an insurance claim, a saddle sore, a virus, yard work, added scope at work, rain and an unprovoked mechanical can all conspire to derail my OCD planning.  In the last few years I have started allowing for some level of disruption in my planning so that during the run up to the event I am not on the cutting edge of peaking at the exact moment of the event.  Still, the frequency of deviations from my original plan continues to surprise me.

I have tried to use my rides leading up to the OTGG to test everything from my fueling (a.k.a. food) to my gloves and socks.  I’ve tried to get in heat training and even went so far as to take Hottie to Maui just to get in some heat training (wink).

All for the sake of training.....

At times the planning and following the plan seems to feel like swimming in circles, lots of motion, no real movement.

After our Hawaii trip I did not expect to jump in exactly where I left off, but the drop off was scary.  The rides felt harder (and per my HRM were harder) and were slower than they should have been.  It was as if any benefit from those miles in March and April was forfeited by a week on the beach.

Only the strong (and the foolish) survive. 

I survived back to back Fondos in Leavenworth, but I sure didn’t feel strong.  Only last weekend did I start to get hints that my fitness was coming around.  In general terms, my plan was to build an aerobic base during the first four months of 2019 by trying to ride eight to ten hours a week and then phase in focused increased intensity (intervals) in May and June leading up to the event.  I’ve been allowing myself to journey into HR Z4 and even a splash of HR Z5 now and again.

This week I had a dedicated interval workout and when it came time to ramp it up I felt like I was revving an engine.  I had a sensation that may be normal to guys like McWoodie, Moonlight and The Judge but is rare for me.  My legs were churning out a ton of power and felt like they had a ton more.  Of course, I went for more and it came with relative ease.  I didn’t feel like I was going to explode at any moment, in fact, I felt like I could hold twice my threshold for as long as I wanted.

During one of my recovery spots I was passed by a young gun and a Scott Foil TT Aero bike with TT bars.  He passed me on a little rise and he looked like he was out of the pro peloton.  Slender body, carved shaved calves, skin tight team kit and a tiny saddle bag all said, “Badass.”  I wasn’t going hard at the time and he didn’t exactly blow past me.

I was well behind him when we turned a corner and he dropped down into his tuck and began charging with all he had.  This was the start of one of my planned intervals and I started driving my legs, putting pressure on the pedals for all 360 degrees of my pedal stroke.  It felt awesome and I was pleased just with that feeling.  Soon I realized I was gaining on him and he turned and looked back.  He shoulders starting rocking on the false flat trying to hold me off. 

In five more seconds I blew past him without a word.  I just kept driving and I didn’t feel like I was going too deep, just releasing the power in my legs. My legs begged to go faster.  I could hear him shifting trying to find some way to catch a guy older than his father.  “Old man power,” I thought to myself. 

Three minutes later I finished my interval and looked behind me and he was very far back but I could tell his head was drooped.  He was blown.  I looked back a minute later and he was nowhere to be seen.  He had turned off the road. 

For so much of the year when I put down a lot of power my legs let me know they can hold that power for about five seconds or so. Today, there didn’t seem to be a limit on how long they could hold the effort, in fact holding the effort felt like scratching an itch.

It would seem that after once again losing faith in my planning and execution and feeling as though all of the interruptions and setback had derailed any chance of success, it is all coming together.