I was proud of myself for getting up early to do some work on Wednesday so that I could get out for a ride before it got too warm and windy. Then just as I was filling my bottles I could hear the distant sound of thunder. Shit.
Tag Archives | feeling mental
As mentioned in the last post, I had been dealing with some off and on again swelling in my left calf since last Friday. Due to my history of DVTs this was very troublesome of course. Despite taking a blood thinner, swelling and slight pain mean one thing to me–another f*cking blood clot. I was hopeful that I just aggravated a muscle during my Memorial Day dirt fest ride, but since it remained for a few days with that familiar tightness, I finally broke down and went to the emergency room.
These days, it seems that I find myself typing things about busy schedules, traveling around Michigan for soccer, and a subsequent lack of quality riding more and more. This post is no different. Last week I got out for a few rides, including one hell of a fun mountain bike ride at MMCC, but then the weekend came and that meant two days of 5:30 AM wakeups, driving, spectating, cheering for, and photographing B’s soccer games. Not going to complain about that, that’s all great stuff, especially since I watched B’s U13 team make it the whole way to the Michigan State Cup U13 D2 Finals on Sunday. They lost 4-3, but to make it that far was a hell of an accomplishment, and B had excellent games in both the Semifinal and Final playing as a winger and a right back at times.
After Monday’s Memorial Day Singletrack Extravaganza at MMCC, Tuesday was spent catching up on stuff I neglected while away over the tournament weekend and the holiday spent riding.
It was nearly a full week since I last rode my bike. The break was not planned, nor was it enjoyed. It was five days of rain, high winds, cool November-like temps, a busy travel soccer schedule with B, and a nice bout of “who gives a f*ck?” ennui. However, per usual, just when I thought that I might never actually ride my bike again, I found myself rolling out from the cul-de-sac onto the roads of rural Michigan.
I’m on a streak of late. Sadly it’s not a good one. This streak has included one of two things: not riding, or shit rides. The past three days, the streak continued.
Tuesday marked one week since I last rode my bike. It also marked the last day I broke a sweat doing anything other than breaking a fever (or wind). The days that weren’t marred by illness were marred by heavy rain, high winds, or traveling for B’s soccer matches. And the days not marred with any of those things, were marred by a much dreaded, mentally crippling overnight trip down to Chicago to hang out with Wifey for a night while she was away at a work conference.
After last Tuesday’s ride, the rest of the week was lost to illness and shit weather. Thursday night I finally got more than 2 hours of sleep, as a result I felt the best I had in days on Friday. Not “let’s go for a ride” good, but good enough to catch up on some adulting, then hang with B-Man and Jake (the dog) in the yard of the Cul-de-sac Shack, capturing some of the backyard nature that can be found around our home with my camera. Due to a complete lack of doing anything, all of today’s images are from that afternoon of backyard slack.
As I mentioned here in my last digital dispatch of dystopian cycling life, I appear to have contracted some sort of allergy. Since Tuesday morning I’ve been dealing with itchy eyes, sinus pressure, a scratchy throat, clogged ears, coughing, endless streams of snot, and a bright red nose that only goes to further the general public’s assumption that I am some sort of jobless, beer drinking scoundrel.
Alas, it’s taken me two days, and two sleepless nights to finally admit; I don’t think this is an allergy, I think I’m ill. If it’s not illness, it’s one bastard of an allergy, and the trees from which the pollen spores fled should be burnt to the ground by hordes of torch wielding warriors on horseback, Game of Thrones style.
There was a time, now almost literally years ago, that me talking about riding dirt meant one thing– singletrack. These days most of my miles spent on dirt are of the dirt road variety. Something that I find to be a hexagonal tug of war equal parts a challenging, loved, creative spike to the vein, and a depressing, sad, pathetic state of my cycling life. The latter is rarely thought of unless I start to think about the days of racing–or just plain ol’ riding–my mountain bike in the woods for long periods of time.