This morning was positively balmy at predawn o’clock, so I decided to head for the bitumen instead of the back yard and the dogs and the trainer, with Coach’s words from the previous night about more kilometres and needing to ride in the dark banging around in my head. After sorting out some lights for the bike and my helmet, (hmm, Mr Legs darling, these old lights are way too dim, I need some AYUPs, for my birthday, please!), and reflective clothing, I headed out in the dark depths, looking to do some downhills sprints, depending on how the legs felt.
Well, the legs felt like dull wooden blocks, so I opted for the usual prework loop taking in Heathmont and its captivating climb. Frankly, this climb hurts, no matter how you take it on. It’s not long, only about 800metres, but it sucks you in and then mauls you like a dog with a bone. Last time I rode it, I PBed my speed up it, but it was a messy and humiliating affair, in part thanks to Mr Tri-like me-athlete. This morning, I managed the same speeds but this time thoroughly avoided looking completely feral, thanks to improved power outputs, consistent pacing and not dying in the final 100 metres or so. But as is the way of improvements, it came at a small cost: in the final 100 metres, where I was not dying, I was instead enjoying the pleasure of little vomity burps. Now in my books, this still constitutes a win to me to as no spew hit the pavement. I know what Coach’s call will be, and one he will be quite happy about I think, but he is also biased and competitive. Perhaps I should post a poll to let the readers decide??