Three good days of training, three days of good training.
Riding up the long hill at the start of the Warragul Club handicap, a course I started my racing career on, I was thoroughly happy with the thought: this proves it! I am truly a trackie, cos I've just been dropped on a hill!
Yesterday, on tired legs, I rode 4b over to Coburg track for a bit of a session with Coach. I couldn't hold 40kph behind the bike. It wasn't looking good. So we opted for some starts: getting the technique down pat and levelling out my crooked body out of the gate. I had the speedo on, and began looking at the kphs at particular points on the track. The warm-up lied, and I am feeling confident for a PB at Worlds.
The inability to stand up without wanting to puke or faint after an effort is totally worth knowing there is a PB festering away in it. I felt like a sprinter between efforts, hobbling over to a blanket to lie down, because even sitting was too much for my glycogen depleted body. It's hard to comprehend that a one lap effort can drain the body so deeply. Pursuiting five or six or seven, yes, but not ripping up one.. But the slow realisation of what I was doing in terms of numbers on the speedo, on a windy concrete track, was worth every shaking muscle and every quiver of nausea. I love track. You can be an enduro or a sprinter or something in between. It's just a matter of finding what gives you the thrill, and brings out your mojo.
3 hours ago