...or are they?
All week I had been planning to do a long Saturday morning ride. The BF was aiming for a 60 mile loop, and needless to say I'm not quite up for that yet. At least not at his 17-19 mph average speed. So I settled on a solo 30 mile ride (the longest for me yet). I would spend the first portion of the ride on my nemesis road/hill, aiming for higher speeds, and the second portion tracking out a new route made of paved park roads connecting neighboring towns.
I had decided that the best way to fuel up for this trek was a nice pile of pancakes. Now, I LOVE pancakes. They are my favorite breakfast food EVER. I was completely overjoyed when I read so many accounts of eating pancakes before races, long rides, etc.
So I whipped some up and happily doctored them with butter and syrup. I let them settle, went for an easy jog to warm up, and then sped away on my bike.
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was out and it wasn't too hot (or humid). I felt my quads kick in as I hauled up the hill(s) and felt them rejoice on the downside. Things, all in all, felt pretty darn good.
And then, around mile 7, I got a little...queasy. Slightly. So I slowed down to try and figure out the unsettled feeling. I've had exersize related nausea before, but this was different. It was lower. It wasn't happy. So I turned around and promised myself to take it easy. I gave myself mental stopping points on the way back. If I didn't feel right by the time I got back to town, I would go right home.
I vowed never to eat pancakes before riding again.
But a few miles later, I felt fine again. I drank some water. I pushed up some more hills. Things evened out and I was able to complete my 30 mile plan.
Maybe pancakes aren't the enemy after all. Maybe I just ate too many.



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