About 7 weeks ago now, my awesome boyfriend said “let’s do this Haul Ash bike ride”. Well, I thought, sure, what is it, like 10 miles?
I remember suffering through 14 last year during my tri. Thinking there is no way in hell I’d ever exceed that amount.
Just about 11 months later Andrew suggested Haul Ash. I quickly went into type-A mode and made a training schedule:
I was drunk when I created it, by the way. but a schedule was made. And I do love a schedule.
Weeks passed. Weeks one and two were hell. Pure hell. Everything hurt. The bike didn’t fit right. Nothing worked. Oh wait, excuses worked. How could I get out of this workout? Yet I never did. The workouts must continue because they are written down.
The week before “RACE DAY” we did 37 miles. It was comfortable. I had some hope, yet I also thought it could be a fluke. Just the week prior we’d done 30 (ok, so we didn’t follow the plan perfectly), and after I finished I felt like SHIT. Horrible, rotten, stinky shit.
Well race day came:
And we did it. We finished! And we weren’t last. Not even close.
That’s my arm. Never quit. I won’t. And I didn’t.
There’s a chapter two. And I’m giving it it’s own post.