Tomorrow I am leaving the United States for the first time in my life. I’m happy about that and plan on spending the next seven days far away from any news concerning the pathetic excuse for a President we have in the White House. The less I know about what goes on here, the happier I’ll be.
I had been rolling along (going nowhere fast) with my Zwifting and eating OK enough until I came down with a slight case of body sludge (AKA a cold).
I had an early morning appointment with my eye doctor on Thursday, and by the time I was done trying on new sets of contacts—none of which seemed to help my vision—I really didn’t feel like working out or riding the trainer. But I did, and I bit off way more than I should have.
Despite the “woe is me” title of this post, things are pretty darn, not badish.
When I say “it’s over,” I am of course referring to the holiday season. Finished; done; caput. Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back, until you force yourself upon us like a horned up, drunk, conservative Supreme Court judge a year from now!!
After weeks months of putting myself through a mental ringer of worry and personal shame about the holiday season and seeing family, they are just about over with. Only New Years remains and other than the fact that I met my wife on New Year’s Eve many, many moons ago, that holiday means nothing to me (not that the other ones do). Out with the old and in with the new? More like out with one shit year, and in with another. I’m being negative, aren’t I? Sorry, it’s a gift. And a curse. Mostly a curse.
As I’ve documented here more than a few times of late, I haven’t been riding outside that much. Wait, reverse that, I haven’t been riding outside at ALL. I was beating myself up about that, but looking back at previous years, it seems that it’s not that unusual for me to sequester myself inside to do stuff this time of year.
The week thus far has been swell for “doing stuff.” Sure, it was inside, but doing stuff nonetheless.
I got a pretty good week of fake riding in last week, coming in just under 100 miles with a shit ton of perceived climbing and vomit inducing efforts. I continue to be surprised at how much I’m enjoying these indoor efforts and how little desire I have to be outside riding in the slop. For now.
These days, this “bike blog” seems to be more of a soapbox of unpleasantness and moaning sprinkled with some photos. The only reason I continue to do it is out of habit and that it gives me something to occupy my time. Sort of how masturbation and overeating (not at the same time, at least that I remember) got me through my teen years. The following contains a bit more of all that (the unpleasantness and moaning, not the masturbation).
This is a post that did not need to be written. At all. Yet here it is, go figure.
You’ve been warned.
Management
OK, I said I wouldn’t talk about riding indoors ’cause it’s not really riding, and there’s not too much to say about it. I’ve done a pretty good job with that, and there’s only been a few mentions of Zwifting on the Hammer in the Not So Stankment, but it appears that I am about to do it again. I’m sorry, but there’s more, trust me!
