I had a great ride. My legs were loose, I felt like I could go on for ever.
As I flew up the hills I could feel my body in tune like a well-oiled machine. It was as if every muscle of my being was in complete synchronicity. Tour de France sensations were seeping through my veins. I was Lance. Or maybe even Rasmussen.
On the flats I was in the ultimate aerodynamic tuck. I may very well have been zipping between the air molecules - nothing could hang on to me. Nothing could catch me. No matter how fast I went, I wanted to go faster. And I did. I did it so effortlessly.
I looked down at my heart rate. 138. Still relaxed, still easy. I smiled.
Not just a smile - I laughed. I screamed. I love this. I LOVE THIS!!!
Then the alarm clock went off.
I opened my eyes a slit and looked over. It said SOS, which seemed appropriate.
Or maybe it was 5:05.
I rolled out of bed and crammed some oatmeal down my throat. I got dressed and muddled my way outside. I hoisted my tired legs onto my bike and pushed ever so slightly forward.
My ride sucked. It was dreadful. Horrendous.
I'm a much better athlete in my dreams.
July 17, 2007
We All Have To Dream
Posted by j. at 4:53 PM
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2 comments:
Ha! Aren't we all!?
Lance is always trying to win me over in my dreams. Ahhh.... I love sleep.
I always DNF in my dreams...
Well at least you're resting. Wouldn't you rather have a great race than a great training session?
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