Bonk, bonk, bonk...

I hate that word. Even as a word, completely disassociated with me, I hate that word. I always preferred "crash" or "hit the wall". "Bonking" just sounds too...playful, too innocent. Too easily confused for something pleasant.

"Yeah, man, I totally bonked back there."
"Really? Was it fun?"

I mean, you know, the first speaker turns and looks at the second as if they're an idiot, and the second is looking back at the first like, hey man, you're the moron who used a word that sounds like a second-grade recess game rather than the shutdown of one or more major necessary systems of your body during a workout or race. Bonk. Bleeeecccchhh!

Anyway, so I bonked today. Badly. It was not at all pleasant, though I do plan to remember what it felt like so that maybe I can get a leg up on it next time. Unfortunately, there was nothing significant about it...one minute I was rolling along, smooth as can be, all systems go, the next minute I was falling onto the sidewalk feeling as though my guts had just been wrenched from their rightful place and the world was doing cartwheels over my head. One minute I was contemplating just how far I'd run along the mesa trail and pondering the feeling I would have if I could do it start to finish and get back to Gregory's house, a full 21 miles, the next minute I was trying not to black out and feigning being fine to concerned motorists who'd pulled over to try to assist me. I eventually scrambled to my feet enough to hobble to the East Boulder Recreation Center, where, once the world stopepd spinning I was able to purchase a bagel from a machine there and sit and eat long enough to get back my legs...and my torso...and my head...and finally, nearly an hour later, was able to walk slowly back to Gregory's house where I found him not out in the car frantically looking for me, not checking his voicemail to hear I was in trouble, not trying to call me on my cell phone, but fast asleep. To his credit, I told him I'd be okay and if I really HAD been in that much trouble and had been unable to get home I would've just called repeatedly until one of the phones woke him (or, better yet, opted for a Yellow Cab), but I was too exhausted and too out of it to even give him too much crap...a few glancing blows from my overtly sarcastic tongue and then I was half-asleep cradled in his arms.

More to his credit, he was the dream boyfriend...ladies, if you're going the endurance sports route make sure that if you don't have a man who's doing them himself, you have one who can be sympathetic or at least, quiet while you're dealing with your shit. I wouldn't have wanted to come back to anyone else for sure...Gregory was concerned, curious, questioning and comforting, everything you need after a nasty workout.

The really lousy part was, it wasn't a nasty workout. It was an awesome workout, until the very end when I crashed and burned...but when that happened, it scared the hell out of me. What if that happens at Leadville? What do I do then?

Well I guess I have a good nine months or so to find out...