Quad Pain - A Primer

I awoke yesterday to a strange, yet familiar feeling in my thighs. As I walked the dog around the neighborhood I felt a faint tightness in my thighs that bordered on burning.

Without closing my eyes, I was immediately transported to the day before, to the Sheridan Road double ravine between Dean and St. Johns. The first quick descent that requires quick effective pedalling to generate the velocity to climb the first hill that ends at Roger Williams. That was the easy one. Then as the next climb, the one that never seems to end, came, Virgil came storming by like a runaway locomotive. (I don't understand how a train could run away given that it is on a track, but hey I am not here to dissect idioms). I picked an easier gear and gave chase. Silly me. He rode me, and Neal, off his newly spring cleaned (tweaked, lubricated, newly cabled, you name it) wheel and left me panting and coughing and singing "the hills are alive with the sound of mucus." That mildly amusing pun allowed me to catch some part of my breath as I spun furiously in what seemed like my 11 when in fact it was something in the 22 or 23 neighborhood. As I tried to catch up and Neal pulled even (before passing me too), I said I was "willing, but not able." Finally, I caught Virgil and admonished (as if I had the right), that it might take until July or August, but I would make him pay for that. Dream within a dream, I thought back to that perfect September day at the Harmon Hundred when, for the final 30 miles I danced on the pedals as we climbed and had to be constantly reined in for my late ride strength. Wake up, Dan.

Back to the walk with my dog. I felt the pain in my quads, fatigue is perhaps a better word. Later yesterday I saw the sports medicine guru and told him about it. He congratulated me.

If the runners' high exists, and I submit that it does, then quad fatigue is the gateway drug that gets you to the hard stuff.