Today was a massive effort. We raced up Mt. Figueroa. It is a 9.5 mile climb that averages 9%...this 9% is very deceptive as the first mile hits 22% and there are some down hills so it sticks around 10-12% a lot.
I was pitted against the camp coach who is a beast. He is a pro road rider from boulder and former pro triathlete. I was pretty nervous as sub 1 hour efforts on the bike are just nasty painful and I had never red lined a climb like that before. I knew I was climbing well but this is a completely different animal.
I took off and hit the first grade and was on the rivet immediately... 1k in and I was already ragged. I was passing tons of people and climbing well. Reality hit about 5k in and I knew I had spent all my pennies. Now it was about mitigating pain and time losses. I was cramping in the back of my hamstrings which has never happened and my back felt absolutely shattered. The camp coach ripped by me at 10k and I couldn't respond.
I was in a bad way when I finally got to the top. I threw up a few bits of bile and tossed in a couple thorough dry heaves for good measure. I laid there annihilated for about 15 minutes before I could eat or drink.
After I rejoined the land of the living, we descended 1/3 of the way down to a running trail for a brick...totally sadistic. I trotted off with my legs feeling like mud pie. I got to the turn around point and was joined by the camp coach, Jared. He apparently wanted to put the screws to me today and we hammered the second half of the run... I was happy for that to be over.
THEN...we rode back. Instead of riding easy, we had a tailwind and set up a paceline. We were absolutely flying.
Now my legs are beyond gone. I need food. I need a shower. I need sleep.