After I hit publish on my last post, I was anxious to get outside to ride again. Sadly, after I looked at everything that needed to be done around the house—and elsewhere—before we went to pick up our new bulldog puppy late Friday afternoon, I reconsidered and slipped into a world void of riding and littered with chew toys and puppy prep.
With tired legs and a belly full of a shit breakfast (it was so tasteless and bad, I’m ashamed of myself), I headed out for a short ride on Thursday morning before attending to real life duties in the afternoon followed by a trip to the Mind Bender.
Most medications include some lawyerish words that say something about “take as prescribed.” I can see that, despite being back to riding outside, my cycling has taken on a bit of a “ride as wanted” air. There is nothing at all wrong with that, but I must learn to accept the pitfalls (weight gain, increased pant size, lack of fitness, etc.) that come with such a slack attitude. Thankfully I wanted to ride on Tuesday, because despite the crisp, not all that spring-like air, the 25 miles ride in the sun was just what I needed, and nature rewarded me.
It took 145 days, or 4 months and 24 days if you like counting that way better, for me to finally make it back outside for a ride. There was much rejoicing; there was also some “what the fuckery?” and some generous helpings of self-loathing on the sad topic of what I’ve let myself become (spoiler alert: fat, drunk, and stupid).
We’ll get to the ride soon enough, but given there’s not much to talk about, let’s backtrack for a little bit and talk birds, dogs, and beers.
I don’t want to say I feel like I’m back to normal, but I’m feeling about as normal as I’ve felt in a long time. Physically, of course, the S.S. Mental Normality sailed long ago and is presumed sunk at the bottom of the ocean with no survivors.
Thursday I completed my fourth day of Zwift™-ing in row and felt really good in the process. I was happy about finally getting back in the routine of doing stuff and about riding for more than ten miles!
Most of my days since the last post were spent doing more of the same stuff: snowshoeing, Zwift™-ing, making/eating food, drinking beer, watching football, self-loathing, and cursing my existence. The usual.
Other than sleeping, the motivation for “doing stuff”1 has been low. Like, old man testies sort of low. Still, I’ve managed to do what I can with the scraps of motivation I have left in me after a month-long illness, a seriously infected cut on my leg, a self-esteem that’s plunging further and further into the nether regions of my stank anus of a psyche, and a winter that shows no sign of releasing its murderous grip from Michigan’s throat.
NOTE: Crap Video added below.
It’s long. Real long. Fucking January, man.
The week thus far has been swell for “doing stuff.” Sure, it was inside, but doing stuff nonetheless.
