Apologies for the current hiding – dare I defend my innocence more than usual – it has been consequence to the talent in Boulder. Daily I’m on the wrong side of an ABC on professionalism by some superstar which, after sulking and piecing a shattered ego back together with adhesive from the fridge in the form of frozen dairy, leaves insufficient energy to blog, buy new earplugs or on occasion brush my teeth.
Chautauqua Park - 200m from my homestay
Not that I’m complaining, to the contrary, here I am in mecca and I’m trying to make it count while enjoying the surreal moments along the way. Once my energy returned to neutral; which has been taking 4-5days after racing and needs improving; I got stuck into some bigger work including more quality than the before Brazil. Quality and volume and altitude are still likened to the three red jalapenos on an Indian menu, but if not now then not in 2010. So lets hope I can stay on top of the recovery side and absorb the stimulus.
Every so often I have a FTS Boulder moment. This week more than usual. I’ll try recall some:
Apparently Craig Aleksander runs up high quite often – meaning two runs, Magnolia Road and Switzerland Trail are staples. Magnolia rolls and Switzerland is a gradual sustained gradient but both are mostly above 8000ft. I’d got to run Magnolia the weekend before Brazil with Joe Gambles so last Sunday myself and two support crew googled, packed the SUV and ascended to where trees dont grow. We parked, and I started down the hill breathing like I was going up it. The FTS moment was running past a khaki mountain man that did not flinch as I first nodded, then raised a finger, then frantically waved. I dont think he has integrated modern society yet and my Garmin bra-strap must have been offensive, but I couldnt be sure.
This was the day after stealing veggies from a connection quite near this unfriendly affair, which is to say somewhere close to nowhere in the mountains. It was a perfectly kept patch that has inspired me to plant what I can. The raspberries were my favoured after grazing to saturation on sugar peas while my homestay did the real harvesting of basil, beetroot, squash and other less immediately tasty items…
On Monday I rode with Matt Reed – who must have the longest seat post on any tt bike. I had 10x1min max efforts and he just biked with me like a father would alongside his son on a first red bmx. FTS. He didnt say anything. He didnt need to.
On Tuesday I setup a run with Chris Legh, who at 38years of age has been niggling most the season and nearly went home to the land of Oz for hip operation 4weeks ago. He ran away from me. By a long way.
Wednesday morning I was to meet Julie Dibens on the corner of Jay and 28th at 715am. For one, I’ve never been to this intersection, and two, never intended to at 715am. Rumour of her punctuality had me in the tt bars on my Shiv – knocking my muesli filled belly with each desperate knee lift – while drag racing up 28th. I was early. She was not. After some two hours of honest riding she tilted her head back (I was already on her wheel) and announced the start of her 40min. Her invitation had not mentioned “this” any more than my programme had. Which means I shouldnt. But there I am, there she is, and 350′ish watts doesnt sting at first. Since I’d not had the chance to slash (intimidation was rife), I was bursting and dehydrated – always a peculiar pleasure – at the end of her effort, but mostly just a bit torched. I went home to nap for 2.5h. An Aussie friend told me she carved out the swim session after our ride. FTS.
So obviously I venture out on my own Thursday morning with ego-building intentions on my Roubaix with its compact rings. Programme suggested strength, so I picked out Sunshine Canyon and Flagstaff. I might as well have been on a single speed mtb. Considering a hike-a-bike on the road doesnt seem as manly and rugged as it does with the Epic on my back. Alas. I came home and shouted FTS to the West and its steep Rockies.
Unlike Wednesday morning’s pursuit up to the Jay & 28th meeting, Friday morning had me pushing like a Cavendish lead out man to get there on time. Which I didnt. And that even after jumping a few red lights, an act that has more thrill here than at home. The superstar was still there, doing a yoga pose alongside her custom bike. I was about to FTS and return to bed but then her drink bottle mix was colour coded to her bike’s artwork graphic and that re sparked my desire to be professional, that same one I’ve had for many years and so paused the outburst. Delayed could be more accurate. For when my heaving at 9000ft sounded like five decades of smokers lungs after a surprise flight of stairs might, I did call it.
And by now you’re surely wondering if I am still resident in Boulder? The week has ended well…
I was running on Magnolia Road this morning with an American, Luxembourger and Bermudian when a slowly passing Landi got us high on the sweetest smell by passive smoking. I smiled and FTS was slower and in a reggae like accent.
