Epiphany

Saturday's weather was glorious and after getting through my committments for the day I was thrilled to have just enough time to sneak in a brick workout before sunset.

I drove out to the country for my favorite peaceful ride full of rolling hills. I did 20K on the bike in 1:01, an easy 4 minute transition and then a 30 minute run-off.

This was the first time I wore my the heart rate monitor on the bike, and I got a rude awakening regarding my previous assumptions about my fitness levels in that event. Even when I felt comfortable my heart rate was spiking out of the zone, and even on the easy hills it was maxing out. I was tempted to ignore it because honestly, I feel fine, but a little voice in my head kept telling me to listen to the monitor and back off. Hence the slow time. For miles and miles the voices in my head argued about it, but I tried my best to do what the monitor said.

I felt like a disembodied voice was whispering urgently inside my mind, trying to tell me something in a language I was only starting to understand. The entire ride I pushed the voice away, not wanting to dwell on something I clearly wasn't ready to grasp yet.

It hit me around mile 9. Suddenly, like the whisper in my mind found a megaphone.

THIS IS WHY YOU CAN'T RUN OFF THE BIKE. THIS IS WHY YOU NEVER HAVE ANYTHING LEFT.

Holy. Shit. Disembodied Voice is right.

At that moment it was like all the pieces of the puzzle, all the things I'd read about - nutrition, glycogen reserves, heart rate zones, fat burning rates - came together into a coherent image and I saw the big picture. I'm burning up all my glycogen reserves on the bike because I'm spiking out of the target zone the whole ride. And that is why I bonk every stinkin' time I try to run off.

This will change my training forever. Even though, for now, it means my times are ridiculous slow, I couldn't happier because I get now that this is what's been holding me back.

After that I had the best run off a bike ever; for the first time it was only the setting sun putting limits on my ability to keep going.