Spring Overtraining

Province Line Road, Hopewell

5 March 2016

From the first small hill between home and Pennington, I knew it was going to be One of Those Days.

I suspected I had it coming since early in the week, when I felt dizzy sitting up in bed and like a zombie all of Tuesday even after 24 ounces of strong coffee. By Thursday, I was watching the clock in spin class, thinking, "I can't take much more of this." When the instructor announced, "It's going to be 70 degrees next Wednesday. Can you believe it?" I decided that Tuesday would be my last spin day for the season. Early sunset be damned, Beaker and I are hitting the road on Wednesday morning.

Since I stopped bike commuting in late October, I've been rising at 6:00 a.m. three days in a row each week, stumbling off to the gym before breakfast to lift weights and spin. One of my instructors has been tracking my watts. As a result, I never let the number drop below a certain level, even during a recovery (I drop the tension and spin faster instead). Once each class, I crank the tension and spin as hard as I can, keeping an eye on the display and my maximum watts. I can hold it for maybe ten seconds.

At the end of class, I record my average heart rate, my average watts, and my maximum watts. The effect is that I can't slack at all; it'll show up on my tally, or, worse, I'll be asked by the instructor.  I'm sure I'm stronger than I was in October, but after four and a half months, I'm beat.

So there I was, washed out from a tiny rise, less than three miles into the trip. Nothing hurt. It's just that I had no oomph. Pete offered that I'd probably pedal my way out of it. I hoped so.

In Pennington, we picked up John K, Andrew, and Sal. We were about to start when Pete asked, "What about the speech?"  All ride leaders have to give the speech on an official ride. Mine goes something like this, and most of the Slugs have it memorized:

This is not a race obey all rules of the road point out hazards single file on busy roads guard your front wheel with your life if it goes down you're going down with it if you ride ahead you're on your own that means if you have a mechanical problem or an injury if we can't see you we can't help you if you're off the back we'll wait if you decide to leave the ride for whatever reason let me or someone else know so we don't end up waiting for you at the bottom of some beastly hill and I have to send the fastest rider back up to look for you watch out for potholes there's a new crop this season okay that's it.

If one wants to get to Hopewell from Pennington, one can do it in 6.6 miles. If one wants to do it in about 23 miles, one can go this way.

I thought it might be fun to travel along as much of Province Line Road that is safely possible on this side of Route 1. We started from Rosedale, which meant that we had to take a 4 mile detour around the part of the road that isn't a road.

Another indicator that I was having a bad day was that I only took my camera out once, on Province Line north of Cherry Valley. I caught up with the group at the top of the next rise, where Sal was taking a picture. I pointed out the hump in the distance, the top of the Sourland mountain. "That's where we're headed."

Before embarking on the most difficult stretch, the one north of 518, I said, "The first part is going to be work. Then, when we get to the trees, it gets tough." Something like a groan came from somewhere in the pack.

At this point, if I hadn't been leading and someone had suggested peeling off for home, I'd have seriously considered it. One rider confided that he wasn't feeling all that strong today either. We both took our time and got to the top without much of a time gap between us and the front of the group.

"Look at it this way," I said, when we all met up again. "We climbed Province Line Road in March." This is one of the ascents I use in early spring, a way to yank the Band-Aid off all at once.

John and I got talking about the restaurant scene and racial prejudice in Trenton. Andrew pedaled alongside and listened. The wooded half of Province Line (now Lindbergh) has a bundle of short, sharp shocks. Talking distracts from the pain, although we did have to get quiet for that last one that pops up and curves a little before Zion Road.

The rest was mostly flat and downhill into Hopewell, where we chose Boro Bean over the Brick Farm Market because we figured we'd get inside seats at the Bean. Wrong. We ended up shivering through our coffee at a table on the porch instead. We had a lively discussion about what a presidency would be like under an unpredictable, racist, narcissistic, demagogue who would be forced to face a Congress that is already thoroughly entrenched in doing nothing. The best scenario we could picture was that we'd get eight more years of nothing.

One of our number had had enough and peeled off for home. Had I not been leading I'd have seriously considered joining him. Instead, I hauled us back towards the mountain again. I was hoping that the break would restore me a little. When another one of our number said, "It's time for my nap," I was glad to hear it, because I wasn't feeling halfway towards refreshed.

The last stretch was in a tailwind on a flat road. A third one of our number confessed that he'd definitely be off the bike tomorrow. "Me, too," I said.

When we crossed Route 31 into Pennington, Pete and Andrew split off for their homes. Sal and I talked about ride leading the rest of the way. He thinks he might want to start later this season. He'll make a good strong B hill rider.  In the parking lot, we talked some more. I was shivering again on my way home.

I stumbled into the house, not sure if I wanted to eat or barf. I ate, because eating is more fun. Now, I pretty much don't want to move, which is why this blog post is getting published so early.