And I still haven't really. I'm back in training after the mountain marathon, but it did take a couple of weeks for the body's willingness to get back into things to match that of the head. I hugely overextended myself that night. I don't regret it, partly because it was fun, and partly because of the result, but my ego definitely wrote cheques the legs took a while to honour.
Hey ho, attention now turns to the Devil's Pitchfork in the middle of September. That means I need to do some riding, and riding up hills in particular. The last couple of weeks have been really frustrating - the weather's been so good I'd have been out in the evenings if I'd been at home. But I haven't been of course, so running and my very own cycling-specific hotel room circuit training have served as an inadequate substitute.
I had hoped/expected to get a solid month off before the Pitchfork to hone my climbing legs, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen now. I'll certainly get some time to scour Brittany for something approaching a big hill, but it's likely I'm going to have to commute between France and London for the middle two weeks of the six I'd planned to not be around. It's that or lose the next three month contract, and that would make my break very expensive indeed. There's a bit of negotiating water to go under the bridge of work first though, so we'll see what happens.
In the meantime, I should get chance to get out on the bike every day tomorrow to Sunday, so that'll be a good start. I plan to watch today's Tour de France highlights on the magic box later; watching the Tourmalet and Hautacam climbs should prove inspiring, even if the speed those freaks go up them is a bit dispiriting. Why can't they get cramp half way up and weave across the roads with their tongues lolling out of their mouths like I do? Would be just as entertaining....
