Hot Rod Lincoln

Following three weeks of little to no intensity, my legs (and soul) were energized and seeking liberation. Armed with an over flowing fuel cell, and coupled with more then a handful of frustration, I headed out to Thetis and unleash a torrent of blood sweat and tears onto the trails. I don’t remember the last time I was in the zone like this, coming within feet of deer and raccoons only to pass them like a haunted demon.

I think it was a blessing in disguise, my friends not being home this morning as I called looking for companionship, as in the end I would not have been good company. Slower runners would’ve been tossed aside without a second glance, and had I run with someone faster, I would have perused them with stupidity and vigor that would have only ended in disaster for this boy. No, today was all about me, no company, no watch, just my shoes and every hill I could find in the park.

Up Seymour Hill, and toward Francis/King via Panhandle. I surged along the Powerline with the energy normal reserved only for racing and found solace in the lyrics of Commander Cody’s , Hot Rod Lincoln, “Now the fellas thought I'd lost all sense, the telephone poles looked like a picket fence. They said, slow down, I see spots, the lines on the road just looked like dots.”

I think it is a chicken and the egg phenomena, but I was relieved to find my level of frustration subsiding in direct proportion to my energy. In a world of counselors, self-help books and quick fixes, all I needed was some time alone on the trails.

As I sit here typing (licking my wounds between thought) I can’t help but notice my right calf making like Elvis and performing it’s own funky chicken. I hope everyone had a great weekend.

Training: a strong 1h30’17”