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fine evening for an ass-kicking

I rode with the local tri club tonight. Although "with" is a strong word.

I suspected things were going to be challenging when I put my kit on and immediately thought: This is not what this kit looked like last fall. That observation was then followed by: I feel like a stuffed sausage.

And then only three other women showed up for the ride. Everyone else was a guy. And these guys all had massive legs. Like their thighs were Groot.

And it was windy. And there were Louisville-style rollers. And this was my first time taking Minivan outdoors since Ironman last October.

I got dropped immediately.

Thankfully, one of the ladies circled back and kept me company. Which involved me working as hard as I could to keep up with her, while she coasted along and pointed out parks and lakes and farmland and beautiful scenery. And I would've participated more in the conversation, but I was pretty much trying not to pass out and die. I'm still eternally grateful she didn't leave me, though.

I came home and lay on the floor. And no wonder -- my Garmin stats said I had reached a maximum heart rate of 182. Which is beyond anaerobic capacity. And my average was 162, which is my Zone 5.

I seriously don't know how I'm not dead.

Clearly the cats are wondering the same thing, as the slowly circle and wait to eat my corpse.

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