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!
I hurt my back around the second week in November, and that lit the fuse on a vile funk that I seem just now to be emerging from. An adjustment to Daddy’s Little Helper seemed to help get me back on track, but it also made me want to sleep ALL the time.
Thanksgiving went well, but I still felt sort of “off ” after our return, probably from the sheer amount of food I ate over the few days we were away, and how many beers I drank to celebrate making it through Holiday #1 in the Trifecta of Holiday Evil. I felt like my already tubby stomach was smuggling thirty eightballs of coke in it, or that I went out and got myself pregnant. Given the lack of cocaine around our families and my lack of lady-bits, I’m pretty sure it was just my stomach’s way of telling me to ease the fuck up on the eating and get some sweatpants.
Since then I’ve tried to eat a bit better, cutting back on colon clogging meats and hitting the Hammer hard again. I’ve tried to do 45 to 60 minutes a day and mix up the courses (flat vs. climbing) the best I can.
I’m missing my rides with my camera, but right now my mind is not in the right place to freeze my moobs off. However taking part in an unprotected sweaty three-way orgy with the Not So Stankment, the Hammer, and Zwift™ has me starting to feel myself again and starting to feel the faint signs of fitness coming back to my lungs and legs.
Thursday’s hour “ride” was the shortest of the week so far mileage-wise, but also the toughest and at times I thought I was going to stroke out, or my chest was going to implode, as I tried to suck in air on a KOM climb that took me over 30 minutes to reach the summit! Since racing, I don’t know if I’ve pushed myself as hard as I’ve pushed during some of my recent workouts. I’m still fat, but I guess fit and fat isn’t that bad. Nah, it is, but we have to tell ourselves something to keep from plunging headlong into the abyss, right?
With all that shit said, I climbed atop the Hammer on Friday morning and only lasted about 30 minutes. Several days in a row of pushing hard caught up with me and my legs felt like shit. So, I aborted, got out of my kit and into some warm clothes, and headed out for a quick lap around the Sylvan preserve with my camera.
It was one of those perfect kind of winter days: crisp air, snow on the ground, and flurries direct from the Upside Down lazily falling to the ground with no sounds to be heard other than the crunch of snow under my feet, woodpeckers wood pecking, and the occasional crow screech.
The walk was short, but the difference in my mood from the last time I walked in these wood was noticeable for sure. I looked at the winter woods with awe; feeling fortunate to have the opportunity to be in them, enjoying their beauty, rather than with a heavy-hearted dread and existential ennui that would rival any Joy Division song.
This post about nothing has gone on way too long. I will end it now and watch some Friday afternoon Bundesliga footy while drinking adult beverages and acting like anything but an adult.