Valley of Kings

I heaved my sick, unrecovered, middle aged ass down to King's Valley with the hope of surviving the inevitable onslaught of speed. I spent the first 1.5 hours of the day setting up a trade show booth and answering questions for members of the Portland Marathon Runner's club. Runners are interesting; really into fitness, but no bikes to fall in love with or obsess over. What a sport! Probably a lot less money.

Anyway, I arrived at the start with about 45 minutes to spare. Registration was a relative breeze, but the port a potties were not. Normally, I'm not a talkative guy, but I kept the chatter going at mach 12 to keep my mind off my naggingly insistent bladder. By the time I got to the head of the line, I was doubled over and clawing at the gravel parking lot for relief.

On to the race. This was my first bona fide cat 2 race of the season. I've been hiding in masters all year. Although fast as hell, masters races are set at lengths appropriate for those of us with real lives. Racing for 76 miles and being worth a shit for all of them, that's a whole other bag of geese.

I knew I was dog meat within the first mile. Our normal Z-Team machine was in pure survival mode. Mick, Mike and I had a team meeting which consisted of some nervous knowing nods and "just survive and get through it" being the theme. The meeting was over in 3 seconds.

I had no warmup and when the little, fit fellows went after it, everything went dark.

But the second lap felt better and the pace actually felt pretty pedestrian compared to some races I've been in. Counterattacking a guy 22 years younger than me makes me feel like both a schoolmaster and an invalid. But either way, it was apparent to everyone at the beginning of the last lap that nobody was getting away with nuthin'.

I felt almost no recovery from Cherry Blossom and every effort beyond normal tempo felt like I was wading through a vat of peanut butter. I guess I've lost my peak and it's time to start building again, but I wouldn't count this as an ideal place to do it. I did fell a little better than I did at the Hood River Crit; but that's not saying much.

The last 1K saw me hanging on for dear life as I tried to hold on to the wheel in front of me. Despite the thermonuclear pace, I'm reasonably happy with holding on to 20th place. I'm old, fat and off my game-but at least I survived.

King's Valley is a beautiful area. I didn't know it existed, despite the fact that I was born in Salem and spent a good chunk of my life in and around the Willamette Valley. If I ever find myself wealthy (not bloody likely), I might dig me out some grapes from that there soil.