"That day, for no paticular reason, I decided to go for a little run."

These were the immortal words of Forrest Gump in the movie from 1994.  I saw this movie at an 11pm showing in Orlando, FL after my mother told me "you have to go see it!".  As funny as it sounds, this is still one of my favorite movies of all time.  Even funnier, this is exactly how I felt last Sunday morning.

As you read my last post, I was more than a little disillusioned with my training.  I decided I would try to salvage my week with a "free ride" (no structured intervals).  My wife asked me how long I would be gone, to which I replied, "One hour if I feel bad, two if i feel good."  As I pulled away from the house, I noticed I didn't feel too bad, which was suprising since I'd only worked 60 hrs in the last 5 days.

So I put in my tunes (Widespread Panic) and headed toward Driggs on the bike path.  After 20 min, things were feeling pretty good, so I made the turn toward the Tetons for a long gradual false-flat I sometimes use for intervals.  As things were feeling pretty good at this point, I decided I'd just cruise up to Alta at the base of the Tetons.

Once I got to Alta, things started to get interesting.  Just past Alta is the climb to Grand Targhee Ski Resort; probably 5 miles and about 2000' of elevation.  I rode through Alta and onto the climb, telling myself I'd just turn around at the first switchback and head home.

At the switchback, I was really starting to feel good...scary kinda good...good I haven't felt in years, kinda good.  So I decided I go up to the lookout.

At the lookout, I figured I had gone this far, I just go up to the third switchback...

Then, for no paticular reason, I rode all the way to the top.  And I don't mean like grinding along, suffering like a dog.  I mean riding with a rhythm, with purpose.  Breathing in, and breathing out.  Cruising.

Once I turned around, I realized I would only have 45 min. to get back to the house to catch the final stage of the Tour.  So I bombed the decent...white line to yellow line and back again...full tuck...laughing hysterically.

Once back on the valley floor, I wondered if I was being spoiled by some sort of mysterious tailwind.  I was turning over a 48-14 (cross gears) again with this crazy rhythm, breathing in, breathing out.  Passing the flagposts in Driggs, they sat still, barely a flutter to them.

I motored all the way back to Victor, up the false flat to my turn and finally sat up to stretch my legs and cool down.  I was a little late catching the Tour.

I rode for 2hr and 52min at an average heart rate of 142 and maxed out at 167.

If it weren't for wanting some family time at home...I might have ridden clear to the ocean.

The tailgate must be loose...

I have fallen off the wagon.

I always tend to bite off a little more than I can chew.  I think I do that on purpose, my way of keeping myself out of the comfort zone.  It has been my ethos for the past few years that if your not moving forward, your are moving backwards.  Nothing can stay static.  If you are static, your dying.  Maybe call it fear.

This has resulted in more commitments than I can seem to meet.  These past two weeks, I've been super busy with work; a cousin in town trying to learn the ropes of the restaurant biz; a non-profit fundraiser for a vertical greenhouse to be built in Jackson; and a family that doesn't ask when I coming home anymore, but when I have to leave.

Needless to say, this has been very trying on me and those around me.  I have not ridden my bike in 7 days.  Not the best thing for the crux of my 8 week program, but something had to give.  Luckly, the furnace is still warm and I have managed to shed more weight and am now down to 230lbs.

Not that I haven't been screwing that up too.  At least one beer after work every night (more like two); not drinking enough water (my lip is now split from dehydration); and I finally snaped and had a chili-slaw dog with French Fries...yea, I said it...french fries.

I find it kinda funny that in my last post, I was so full of confidence, and now I'm eating french fries, drinking beer, and generally not even trying to get out of bed in the morning to go train (in my defense, it is the only time I seem to have with my family at this point).

So I ask again...where do we go from here?

I guess its time to get up, dust myself off, and get back on the wagon.

I imagine it will leave without me if I'm not careful.

Mmmmm...I make a mean Humble Pie.

Humility is a good thing.  And being a humble person in this day and age is not the most vogue thing, unfortunately.  Now I haven't always been the most humble person (complete understatement).  When I was racing full-time, I may have once or twice said something that could have been misunderstood as being conceded.  And in my current career, I'm sure it could be confused that I'm a little more than confident at times about my abilities.  I blame it on my inability to communicate well (my wife may have said that once or twice).

However, I recently have been learning some serious lessons about humility, and unfortunately I feel the need to share them with all of you.  Now, thankfully, no one reads my blog really anyway.

Otherwise I wouldn't tell you about the humility of being dropped in a Cat. 4 criterium not once, but twice.

I wouldn't really bother to bring up the fact that even though I've lost over 20 lbs in the past 10 weeks, I still look like 10lbs of potatoes stuffed in a 5lb sack in my race kit.

And I surly wouldn't bring up the fact that I drove an hour each way to Idaho Falls for the Alan Butler Memorial Criterium to get dropped after a mere 13 minutes of racing...that's right folks, I made it a whopping 13 mins in my first race on the road in 15 years.

I'm sure I would also neglect to bring up the fact that I was lapped not once...not twice...not three times...not four times...but yes, five times at the Jackson Hole Downtown Criterium.

So what does all this mean?

It means I'm giving everyone fair notice.

As soon as I'm done eating steaming bowl after steaming bowl of humble pie, I'm going to be able to open an icy cold can of Whoop Ass...take that first sip...and say "Ahhh".

I know this is going to be a long road.  It might be this fall,might be next year, but at some point, I will be on the serving end of the humble pie gravy train.

Not a question of if...just a question of when.

How's that for humility?