I don’t know if he ever really said it.
Rich Meeker is supposed to have said something like this: “Masters racers train too hard and ride too much.”
Please check in all nasty comments about Rich at the door to the Internet, or refer to one of my earlier posts and pile on there. Just because someone cheated doesn’t mean they aren’t smart about their sport.
For over 30 years people have been telling me variations of “You train too hard and ride too much,” to which I always politely smiled while thinking, “WTF do you know? Where were you on the Donut Ride?” Right, Elron?
Of course on race day those know-it-alls are on the podium and I’m DNF because “no legs today.”
Turns out, they knew a lot. Masters racers, apparently, train too hard and ride too much. “Oh, yeah?” I can hear you Wankophizing. “Too much for what?”
Too much to do well at races, that’s what.
“Well, who cares about racing?” I can hear you shout back.
“Only the people who pay entry fees and show up to race.” In other words, ME. And YOU.
Of course it doesn’t matter what people say to me. My mind is ten million impermeable layers of granite, especially when it comes to cycling. I know everything, and what I don’t know isn’t worth knowing.
“Yeah,” Fields once said, “but the problem is that what you know isn’t worth knowing either.”
Then one day a very helpful pro (“What does he know?”) suggested that masters racers train too hard and ride too much. I ignored him while nodding wisely in assent.
But something made me listen, even though it was a few weeks after the fact. My 51-year-old body, whose recovery slows each year like a tiny pebble rolling uphill through a massive pit of wet cement, refused one morning to do what I demanded of it.
“I wonder if I’m tired? I mean, like, permanently.” I thought about an old blues musician from New Orleans who, in his 80’s, was asked how he felt as he sat on the corner strumming his guitar. He considered the question briefly, and looked at the eager tourist who was desperate for the aged musician to utter some reaffirming words about a life fulfilled from singing the blues.
“I reckon,” the man said, “that I feel like an old worn out shoe.” Was I, too, becoming a Converse All-Star that had been to one hipster convention too many?
I tried to ride my bike that morning and did so, without vigor. And from that point on I started exercising my sitting muscle. Throughout the race season, which in California runs from January 1 to about December 31, I have only ridden hard once, maximum twice, during the week, to wit:
- Monday: Nothing or easy pedal
- Tuesday: One 5-minute effort on the NPR or full gas 1-hour effort
- Wednesday: Coffee cruise
- Thursday: 60-minute full-gas Flog Ride, or 60-minute easy pedal depending on what I did on Tuesday
- Friday: Coffee cruise
- Saturday: Race or Donut with full sprinkles and choco pain glaze
- Sunday: Easy Wheatgrass cruise
My results are as follows:
- Still feel like racing in June, as opposed to weakening in Feb., cratering in Mar., and giving up after the BWR in April.
- Legs feel fresh
- Reduced reliance on Chinese doping products
- A baby’s handful of good race results, i.e. a single top-50 and no crashes
They say less is more, which is definitely not true for money or penis length. But for masters racing, ol’ Meeker the Beaker may have known what he was talking about.
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