As I pulled into Marymoor Park for the first of three track workout sessions this week, I realize that yesterday marked the first day of six months of intense left turned ovals. Never mind the white caps blowing across the floating bridge or the aggro acts of daily commuters who are quick to flip the bird before tooting their horns. I was headed to the track for some self inflicted punishment of the fixed gear kind.
The wind was blowing a gale on the home straight and the dark clouds were hovering somewhere over Snohomish. Thirty laps of warm up lasted 29 too long. But on the back straight was a serious tailwind - helping my start efforts get up to speed before the head wall of wind in corner 4. It's day like these when the motivation to kill myself on the road bike wavers - so I was thankful for the track time. And even more thankful I wasn't doing my efforts in a 98" gear.
There's a quiet solitude the track provides in the early hours of the morning. The puddles have yet to dry around the apron and the west bound traffic hums along 520. Cirque is being set up in the adjacent parking lot next to the velodrome and the workers pay no mention to what I'm doing. My hands are greasy and grimy after changing gears and I accidentally spread grease on my face like war paint.
As I rest between standing start intervals, I catch up on some Zen reading and 10 minutes zooms by. I look forward to having company out at the track but I also enjoy the solitude. The next effort makes my entire body shudder and go limp once completed. There's work to be done and goals to strive for.
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