Friday, September 20, 2013


You know what I like about recovery rides?

The lack of effort.

Sometimes it’s practically idyllic.  It’s like being a kid again, just riding my bike on a crisp fall day looking to end up some place new and not caring how long it takes me to get there.  In this case it was late afternoon, with the shadows just starting to lengthen.

I passed a guy out jogging easy, and we waved at each other, two guys out exercising acknowledging our common bond.  I passed a kid playing in his yard.  He grinned and waved at me.  That grin gave me the idea that he knew how I was feeling.  I passed a quaint old church and actually heard the carillon playing a hymn.  Does it get any better than this?  I was riding based on perceived effort, and I kept it down to a very easy spin, heart rate down,  respiration down, no sweat.  What a really nice ride.

But, do you know what I hate about recovery rides?

The lack of effort.

I know, I know, and everything I said above was absolutely true.

And yet…

There always comes that point when I have to hold myself back.  I want to push my pace, to feel my heart pumping and my muscles working, to hear the chain and the sound of wheels on the pavement, to find myself sucking in air and to feel the sweat starting to run.

Why on earth would I like that?  It actually sounds kind of unpleasant, to be honest, but I do like it.

It’s actually easier for me to ride recovery if I have someone else with me, someone to chat with.

Unless, of course, that person also has a tendency to want to push the pace, and then we find ourselves starting to compete…

Then it really isn’t recovery anymore.

But it’s fun…

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