I've had the opportunity to live in many places across the US - Vermont, Virginia, Illinois, and now Texas. Every place I go I hear the same thing: If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes and it'll change.
Summers in Texas tend to bring very consistent conditions. Hot. Sunny. Convection oven breezes. There's no "wait for to change", it simply doesn't change for 3 months.
This year was different, with the bulk of July avoiding any real resemblance of heat. We even set some records for lowest highs with some places reporting highs in the upper 70s. Seriously. In a state where July usually means LOWS in the upper 70s, frequently the low 80s.
As cyclists, we were not just enjoying this, we were living it up. It was wonderful.
Finally, summer arrived in August, and we've been seeing more "normal" temperatures. With that heat came my typical heat-induced physiological failure: my performance guttered. For 3-4 weeks, I suffered through having a short wick that burned far too fast, and dealt with much longer recovery times that reduced me to a single hard ride a week - and that ride was still soft.
Demoralizing, every year. This year, it hit right as we came into the prime of the Texas road racing season, kicked off by Hotter than Hell. Well, at least it continued to live up to its name.
August is the build up for the grand finale of the year, the Texas State Road Race Championships, ridden on Fort Hood outside Copperas Cove. The heat played a double-whammy on me this year, waiting until August to shred my month of preparation going into my first "real" attempt to race (and hopefully place) in the Championship.
Tuesday, Wednesday were late-blooming heat waves last week, setting new high temperature records on Wednesday (101F). I had intended to reel back the effort on my ride Tuesday so I'd be rested for the upcoming weekend of racing, but the group was spritely and I let myself get sucked into 25 miles of attacks, and blistering pulls, and generally hard riding.
Oops.
Cloudy skies on Thursday kept temperatures reasonable as I managed to dial back my effort in our group ride. I took out the TT rig to make sure it was riding reliably before the second stage of the upcoming race: an individual time trial held on Saturday afternoon.
But as they say, if you don't like the weather, wait a bit. It'll change.
And change it did.
Texas is amazing in one regard - the ability to have downright radical changes in weather in a very short period of time. A few years ago at the Texas Time Trials the overnight countryside temperatures reached 32 degrees; we were freezing our asses off. 12 hours later, 4 in the afternoon, and it's 96 - with a 30mph south wind.
That was without fanfare. More amazing is when fronts roll through, taking 80F to 50F in minutes. Those tend to have a little more excitement - 60mph straight line winds, at least, as the front passes.
So this past weekend was the Coleman Chevrolet Stage Race held in Douglassville, TX, about 30 miles outside of Texarkana in the east Texas countryside. And it was 101 on the Wednesday before.
But not this weekend. Friday morning brought the sound of raindrops on our skylight as we awoke. It was downright chilly as we drove to work that morning. WOOHOO!
We were fortunate to have perfect weather conditions all weekend, with highs in the upper 70s and lows in the upper 50s or low 60s. You couldn't ask for a better race weekend.
This coming weekend is the Texas Time Trials, where I plan to ride the 6-hour solo "upright" (non-recumbent) event. TTT is technically not a "race" per se, although the promoters make that mistake on occasion.
That said, I have, or had, designs to chase the course record, but again Texas weather will likely get in the way: we're going to get heavy rain Saturday afternoon. Looks like I'll be taking precautions to ensure I have a safe ride.
I have a State Road Race Championship to prepare for.
I'm tired.
This past Saturday morning, like many Saturdays here in Texas, presented the opportunity to ride in a bicycle rally. These are organized, pay-to-ride events with rest stops, support vehicles, and law enforcement protection, put on to benefit a non-profit or another organization beneficial to society.
(They're also called T-Shirt Rides because they always give away T-Shirts printed with the event name, logo, and sponsors. I have a ton of T-Shirts from these events.)
Not to say I ever stop on these rides, nor do most of the people I ride with. For us, it's a race, but lacking prizes or any sanctioning. A somewhat dangerous, disorganized race.
And I was tired. My legs felt like blocks, my heart rate would skyrocket at every moderate effort, and my stomach would turn if I burned the wick too long.
To explain, I have to go back a few more days. Last Saturday I raced in two circuit races (which I didn't win), and by the end of the second race my legs were shot. Not wise enough to rest, I rode trails on Sunday, another 2 hours on the bike. Still not resting, I did hill repeats on Monday, which are about as fun as they sound.
(If you're from a hilly / mountainous area and have been to North Texas, you're chuckling at the phrase "Hill Repeats". Trust me, you'd not be chuckling after you did a few of them with me, despite the short length of the climb.)
After that my legs were really screaming. I knew I was in trouble, so I took two days off, then went on a group ride on Thursday planning to take it easy. Or not, as I once again poured what little I had left out on the pedals. Wisely, I rested Friday.
So we're at the local rally on a perfect Saturday morning, I'm lined up at the front with 1000+ riders behind me. Most are recreational riders, but there's a small spattering of ridiculously fast racers. I felt the twinge of lingering fatigue in my legs, but hoped it would burn off after warming up.
Sadly, that wasn't to be the case. I was on the ropes within 10 miles and never really was able to get myself put together. I was a non-factor at the end of the ride.
So, yeah. I'm tired. I still want to ride, but I just have little more I can give.
Once I've hit this point, where deep fatigue sets in, I have to lay off the bike for a bit. It's like all things. Once we hit our limit, we have to dial it back or risk something more than simple fatigue. We risk getting sick; getting moody and irritable.
We risk burnout.
Fatigue is a funny thing. It's not necessary tired in a physical, or even mental sense. It can be the wearing down of interest - we can become tired of watching the same TV show, eating the same food all the time, or playing the same games. We get tired of our commutes, and we certainly get tired of our jobs.
We can burn out on all of those, fun or not. I try to avoid burning out on bicycling, while I'm not always successful I've found ways to help reduce the chances.
Know my limits.
I listen to my body and mind, I try to hear the signals when I'm getting worn down. It could be the immediate acid feel in my legs when I push, or the irritation at little things while on the bike. If I'm too tired to perform at the level I want, frustration can build.
It need not be my well being, but how the environment affects me: heat takes away my mental focus - motivation - at an incredible rate. Lack of sleep has a profound impact on my desire to ride in general (and is the primary reason I have stopped riding in 24 hour races). I am very sensitive to these limits about myself and strive to stay within them.
Mix it up.
About a year ago I hit the motivation wall. I had zero interest in the bike. I would ride, come back frustrated and disinterested. I'd take a week off, but it wouldn't change. 2 weeks off. 3 weeks off.
I dusted off my old mountain bike and did a trail ride. And absolutely stunk. So I did it again. And stunk. Again, and stunk, but a little less. I started to ride again.
I find new and different things to do. New routes, new groups. New intervals, new riding styles. I don't get stuck in a rut; I take advantage of different opportunities, I thrive on them, and I create diversity when I need something completely different.
Take breaks.
No matter how much I mix it up, there will be times when I simply lack the fortitude to ride another mile. This is really hard for me, I have very poor throttle control when I'm on the bike; but, since I know that, I know a break for me is completely off the bike or scheduling rides with people who are much slower than I am.
I've realized I'm at my limit now, so I'm taking a full 4 days off before my next event.
It helps to remember that you only get faster when you take the time to recover.
Have purpose. (Or) Set (good) goals.
Motivation comes from having a reason to do what you're doing. There is only one reason someone would ride their bicycle in North Texas in July afternoon 110F heat: they have something they are trying to accomplish.
For me, it's not some grandiose, over-the-top goal (although some would disagree). I have a simple goal: podium in the 6 hour race this weekend (see? not grandiose). My riding goals typically range week-to-week ("win" this week's rally), punctuated with targeted events (win a specific race). Last year at this time my mid-range goal was to place in the Hotter than Hell 35+ 4/5 race and my long-range goal was to upgrade to Category 3.
I find myself in no-man's land now as I accomplished both of those goals and haven't committed to a new long-range goal. I'm happy with that, which is why I suggested goals be "Good".
Change what I can, accept what I cannot.
The Serenity Prayer.
There are plenty of things that present opportunities for stress. Rain when I want to do trails, the weekend before a major trail event. Heavy traffic. Rough road surfaces. Flat tires. Summertime heat.
Or maybe my own limitations. Tired legs on a rally day. Getting dropped by faster riders.
I know what I can change and decide if I'm going to; and I know what I can't change and I work around it or let it go. I strive to prevent stress from becoming frustration.
Have FUN.
This is the perfect guide to end on. I sincerely believe that everything I do should be fun, even when it's work. Make no mistake. I work on the bike, I work as hard on the bike as I do at home, at work, and every other place.
I ride because I enjoy riding. I work because I enjoy working and the work I do. Whether it's driving the pace in an aggressive group, or a relaxing pace on a sunny morning with my son, I'm having fun. The moment it stops being fun is the moment I stop, just as I did when I lost motivation in early 2013.
So, I'm tired...
...but I'm taking a break, my legs slowly recovering. I've set goals for this weekend and sincerely believe I can accomplish them.
And I'm just not going to worry about all the other stuff that really doesn't matter. Soon enough, it'll just be me and my bike.
Soon enough.
We got some rain.
We need it. I really shouldn't complain. We've been in the midst of a worsening drought, our regional lakes are 10' or more below pool. The region is in varying levels of mandatory water conservation, and many counties have burn bans due to tinder-dry conditions.
So, I shouldn't complain.
One of the hardest things about road cycling is the monotony of the road itself. If you ride alone, you're left to your thoughts. Some days I can keep them pushed back, I can enjoy the bike, and enjoy the ride (or enjoy the suffering I had planned); other days life's daily trials, the stress of living, dominates my consciousness and it's all I can do not to turn around and go home.
I don't ride road solo much anymore. I find I really can't, I find that the churning in my head leaves little will for burning in my legs or gasping in my lungs, let alone the buzz of traffic or the bumping of typical country Texas roads (still with the occasional traffic). As summer comes, the heat will serve to further drain away desire.
I shouldn't complain.
Flashback - a cold February 2013, and I had no desire to ride. None. I would come up with reasons to skip rides, none good but they always worked. Without the outlet, I was a strain on my family, my coworkers. One day, on a whim, I wheel out my old Trek hardtail and hit a local trail. It hurt. A lot. And despite skipping every remotely technical section, I couldn't complete the bunny hill trail without stopping. I sucked.
But I was hooked. I beat myself to a pulp, pushed my capabilities to the limit. A month later I'm in my local bicycle shop (LBS) buying a full suspension Rocky Mountain (because we all know it's about the equipment). Another two months and I'm riding in a 4-man team at 24 Hours in the Canyon in Palo Duro Canyon. I was over my head, but my goodness I was having fun. In between (and despite) tree sideswipes, washouts, crashes, and bruises, I was having fun.
Today, I shouldn't complain about getting rain. But I'm thinking about it.
Sometimes, it's "when the going gets tough, the tough get going." That applies so very well to training; if you don't commit to the challenge, you'll never reap the rewards. You can only get stronger by doing what you're weak at. Other times, it's about change; maybe you need to stop being a road bicycle primadonna and get a little dirty on the MTB.
So while I am in need of change, we got rain. I'm trying not to complain, but the trails are closed.
It's almost a metaphor for life. We become settled, consistent, we train ourselves to live expertly, but only within the confines of the world we've carved out for ourselves. We become comfortable; but familiarity can be restless and even unhappy. When it rains, we look for change but can't find a path that is open for us.
It's that very rain that allows those paths to exist in the first place. I'm not going to complain. The sun is out. The sky is clear, springlike blue. There's a breeze through the leaves. In time, a trail will open, and I'll seize the opportunity for change. I can wait for that new trail.
For now, I think I'll grab my bicycle and hit the road.
