For the past months, months and months I either spent the time running hills or running around a track depending on what my marathon training schedule said I was supposed to do.
One of the first thoughts I had after crossing the New York finish line was,“Yay! Now I can mountain bike on Wednesday mornings.”
The rest of the workweek I am too lazy to get up and out on the bike early enough still make it to work at 8:30 (sike, I am never on time, it’s more like 9). But on Wednesdays I can roll out of bed at 9:30, get in a decent ride, wash the grime off of me, feed myself and still make it to work on time-ish.
So far I am sticking with this plan. Rode last week and yesterday and had a grand old time, except for the frequent reminders that I sort of blow at mountain biking. I am scared of riding over rocks, downhills, roots, mud, streams, logs, trees, pebbles, squirrels, bottles, paper, twigs, chipmunks, grass, dirt and many other nouns.
Yesterday I stuck to a flat, non-technical dirt road and paved hills because it apparently stormed like a mofo overnight (I slept through it) and the real trails were sopping wet. Within two miles I was covered in mud. The face part of me looked like this:
Fun times! Way more sloppy than road running!
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