I haven’t been doing much of anything since racing on Saturday.

(photo courtesy of Fullface Kenny)

Sunday, I laid around the house in the throes of post-race misery.
Revisiting the revelation from my previous post… racing is hard for everyone, no matter how fast or slow you are. It makes everyone sore and tired. However, the physical and mental fatigue generated when you have the ability to push yourself at or above lactate threshold for hours on end is another level of hurt. At least, for me it has been. It’s highly possible that someone faster than me is reading this right now and wondering why I don’t stop with the whining.

My post-race experience has been the obvious full-body soreness coupled with a loss of appetite, inability to sleep (a combination of pain, sweating, and mental unrest), and a general feeling of mild depression and malaise. That was, for the most part, how I spent Sunday and Monday. Post-race Mondays are always great when I get to explain to everyone at work how I didn’t win.

I don’t think they particularly care, and, honestly, I don’t particularly mind having an awesome personal performance like this one and getting 3rd behind the likes of Pua and Sara. It’s the times where I feel like I should have done better than suck to explain. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those times.

After a couple of days of being tired and lazy (my recovery rides consisted of riding my bike the 1mile to work and back as well as rolling around the skatepark a little while Poolboy Matt shredded on his BMX bike), yesterday was time to unf*ck myself and get back to work. Matt and I went out for a 3 hour wind fight (which I believe I won). I don’t normally take breaks during rides, but we had to stop and check out this guy, who was crossing the road somewhere north of Arlington…

I normally save turtles from the road. Not this type, though. If you’re not well-versed in “animals of the deep South,” just know that the snapping turtle is one of the meanest creatures on this wonderful earth. This was a pretty big one- huge claws, shell at least a foot long, and a fat, at least  4-inch-long tail that looked like something out of a dinosaur exhibit at the museum. I’d rank it right up there with the Honey Badger and rabid dog as “top 5 animals not to f*ck with.”

The ride, followed up by a good yoga class, were enough to finish peeling back the layers of funk that I’d been dealing with. Sometimes you rest more. Other times, it’s better to just jump right back in. This was one of those times.