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.
With that said, the feature photo above of a bull lying in his pen, surrounded by piles of his own shit, staring off into rural oblivion as he contemplates his fate as if a bovine Dostoyevsky in exile, pretty much sums up my last two days. Just replace the bull with me, the ground with my fart scented bed, and the shit with spent snot covered Kleenex that has my bedroom looking like I’m a 15-year-old at the end of a two-day masturbation bender. You could probably leave some of the shit too. Just sayin’.
I guess if I was going to get sick, this is the time to get sick/bastard allergy. I did get three days of riding in (Sunday, Monday, Tuesday) before it hit, and the winds have kicked up, along with some hit or miss storms as a cold front moves in. While I’m happy to not be out fighting the wind, trying not to get blown into traffic, or into a swamp filled with car tires and rotting deer carcass, I would be more than OK with being able to breathe proper.
Thursday is my self-imposed weigh in day. Given the lack of riding the past two days I’m kicking around the idea of skipping it this week so as not to bring down my paper thin confidence. If I can muster the time/will, I might get on the Dreadmill® to pump out some gravy sweat, I might change my mind, but I’m already draggin’ mental ass from being stuck at -11.4 and I don’t need to slide further into “What the f*ck? Let’ eat!” territory.
Edit: I did end up forcing myself on the scale, and it seems 1.4 pounds were lost. bringing the total to 12.8 since February 13th. It still feels like pissing in a fat filled ocean, but I’ll take that shit all day long.