July 16, 2011
My heart rate monitor flashes numbers well above 90% of my max and the numbers are rising. This is a short course, 70 miles, with no real climbing, but our riding pace relentlessly hovers around and above 20 mph. There are hours yet left to ride and I am a clydesdale trying to run with a racehorse. Through open mouth, my belly bellows air in and out of my lungs as my thighs burn in circles to climb the next roller. I take another pull of water from my Camelbak and work at keeping the pace.
My heart rate monitor flashes numbers well above 90% of my max and the numbers are rising. This is a short course, 70 miles, with no real climbing, but our riding pace relentlessly hovers around and above 20 mph. There are hours yet left to ride and I am a clydesdale trying to run with a racehorse. Through open mouth, my belly bellows air in and out of my lungs as my thighs burn in circles to climb the next roller. I take another pull of water from my Camelbak and work at keeping the pace.

