Being brought to failure and the repeating stresses we put on our bodies and minds the way we do is humbling. Yet we repeat these antics for we are driven. We are driven to do the best we can and not simply roll over and succumb.

So it was this weekend and the many weekend prior. Out with my training partners for the early part of this season prepping for cross. Webber, Hackworthy, Dubba, Overton, Robson, Spalding, Bortz and more. Team mates and suffer-mates all these last few months getting in the good and hard miles. 5-6lbs of body fluid lost on these rides as we traverse unbelievable Aspen-lined singletrack at 9,000 feet, climb 10% grades and just…suffer. Training in a way that keeps the smiles affixed, even as the kilojoules mount up.

I have to look at November and December. I have to look  farther down the road. I have to remember the day I hit terra firma this summer and my forced rest that ensued. I have to listen to my mentors and truly hear them when they say “something has finally stopped you and will force you to push the high end out to where it needs to be…” This is not 2003 and picking off races is not possible with the pool of sharks we swim in on any given weekend here in CO. Fit now is suicide, so feeling generally bad is good on these rides. Not bad as in overtrained-bad, but that feeling when you are under significant load and your body instinctively knows the sharpened point of the pencil hasn't been ground in yet yet you can feel it in the distance. Leg speed is slower, the chain is still felt, yet you are happy.

I have my sport back in its compartment. Back under control. Leveraged to balance the rest of the seats on my three-sided teeter.  This important leg keeps me alive, feeling inspired, that I can push as hard as ever.

The season is here.

Game on.