Yesterday was a relatively good day. I had one of my best training sessions to date. A warm-up run followed by 4x(ride 4 miles hard, run 1 mile hard). I found a stretch of road near the high school track a couple miles longs with a railroad overpass (ie- hill coming from either direction) and I pounded it out. My mile splits got faster and faster, 7:05, 7:00, 6:45, 6:40. And then a nice cool down ride. And I was rather satisfied.
From there, I got a sandwich and went to the pool for some time in the sun. And a quick few laps. Unfortunately, by the time i got home, I was waaaay too hungry. I'd probably gotten myself into a bit of a glycogen debt. I had a hankering for a burrito and upon searching hopelessly for a Chipotle, found a little Mexican taqueria. I was the only gringo in the joint, but I made a mad dash for home to scarf it down and knew I'd still not consumed enough. I later had some sugar free ice cream (there are no treats in this house, so I went next door and raided granny's diabetic sweets).
Then came nightfall. And as tired as I was, my mind wouldn't shut off. I'm finding evenings to be the most difficult times. I tried the couch, the floor, TV, no TV, crosswords, tea, sitting on the porch, reading blogs, sending emails... Nothing seemed to help. I tossed and turned and maybe got four hours of sleep before awaking this morning for some coffee before this group ride.
There were six of us in total. We circled the block over and over waiting for all to arrive before heading out on the road. Right away, we picked up the pace. And I could feel it. In my legs. In my mind. All of me was wanting nothing more than to just go home, curl in a ball and sleep for hours on end. But I kept riding, now just trying to suck wheel instead of taking pulls. I tried to stay positive in my mind. But I didn't know the roads. And I had about 230 riding miles and a couple run speed sessions on my legs. And we hit a road covered in gravel. In a pace line. Going prett fast. I dropped back a little. One wrong move by the wheel in front or any lack of signalling and I didn't want to be a casualty. And that little gap got bigger. I just let them go. ANd mentally, I went too. Like off the deep end.
When we regrouped, I said something about how that wasn't safe and in return, received some remarks...and then I got a little mouthy with the coach in the group. And in my mind, I was going BALLISTIC!!! Instead, I just picked up my toys and went the other direction. I got within a safe distance and wailed. and bawled. and made a few phone calls. and got voicemails.
The heartache. And the fear. The disappointment. And the lack of stability. And the pain. Not enough calories. No quality sleep. Too much sun. All the miles. The speed work. Packing. Travelling. Living out of a suitcase. Turning 30. Just wanting things to be easy for a while. The desire to go home...and having no home! It all caught up to me. And that gravel is what broke me. I didn't know where the hell I was. And it didn't even matter. I could've fallen in a heap on the ground and not gotten up for hours. But I mentally gathered myself and pulled out the GPS and got back to mom's, where I now sit and think about how word spreads like wildfire in a small town. And they'll all think I'm some kind of whack job cry baby. But really leaving the group ride had nothing to do with the gravel or the guys riding. And everything to do with everything else.
I think I need a break. even if just for the remainder of today.