It started innocently enough with coffee on the deck before moving onto one of my favorite joys, mowing the lawn. But there was something buzzing in my brain. I was pulsing at a deep level and my body was about to explode.
I crept into the “pain cave,” pulled out Gary Fisher, and filled his tires to 50 psi. I slowly gathered water bottles and picked the right shoes for my cages. I stewed, stammered and questioned for about an hour, then couldn’t resist. I had to get the blood pumping.
Tarrolly Hills was starting to bustle with activity, but the president was bent on another form of relaxation. Whipping tree branches and mud were calling my name.
I tore off into the Greenway, then darted right on the first trail. The bumpy grass was heaven as it jarred my upper body awake. The peace of the trail lulled me into a zone as I churned at a comfortable pace. “Just keep spinning,” advice from a friend long ago about how to move your mountain bike through the woods, rang in my head as I navigated nature.
The trails in Shelby Bottoms would equal “zero” on technical difficulty, but I was excited to find many single tracks lurking off the main path. There were fallen limbs, sand, and many other little obstacles to nibble. It wasn’t hard, but it was a challenge.
If you take the black top path, it’s just over 4 miles into the Nature Center. On trails, it was right about six. My legs felt a little heavy as I re-filled my water bottles, so I took about 20 minutes to stretch and do push ups.
It was a timeless exercise with no concern for time. None of it mattered as I centered myself in the moment as I peddled toward the formidable Mount Nasty. I climbed the first of what would be six hills, all 1/3 to 1/2 a mile long. My ascents were slow, but consistent and all followed by a downhill recovery.
Up, then down, then across the park to another hill, before going back to the Nature Center for more stretching, yoga, and push ups. My legs were pounding, but alive.
You make a lot of decisions on the trails and my upper body was happy to be involved in the process. I love mountain biking for this reason. Your mind more easily with you on the ride and not drifting off into the mundane problems in your life. You are engaged, and that is how my body felt.
It had rained while I was doing my hill repeats, and on the way back, the trail was wet and muddy. I attacked.
My bike handling was coming back. I leaned into the corners, trusting the tires and momentum. Rather than plotting tracks around the muck, I dove straight into muddy puddles.
The rain and mud washed my face. I was consumed by the moment and plowed through everything in my way. Part of me wanted more trails, but the logical brain reminded me that I was on 10 Days of Rest.
I emerged from the washed out trails onto the black top and spun out of the park. It was raining harder now and the mud trickled down my cheek, a mountain biker’s tear.
For the last year and a half, I have mainly ridden triathlon bike, with mixed emotions. I love the speed and raw power, but the constant position hasn’t been the best thing for my soul. Mountain biking forces you to bring your entire focus. Thousands of split second decisions keep out the chatter, the questions, the doubt. You’re constantly looking for the right path and finding it instinctively.
I felt a tinge of guilt for falling off the rest wagon, but my legs were happy I took the chance. Tired from the 18 mile jaunt, but pulsing with life.
It also reminded me how good this kind of riding can be for your run. Mountain bikes work your hamstrings more and I honestly think it can be a legitimate substitute for beating up your body with long runs. During my biggest stretch of mountain biking, I also played a lot of sports, and that’s when I was running the fastest. I was quick, agile, and resilient.
So, I will resume my 10 Days of Rest with a red mark on Day 6, but cannot wait to repeat that devilishly refreshing journey. Six miles of trails, six testy hills, six miles of trails. I have lovingly dubbed the workout, “6-6-6.”
