For me, a slack forty-four year old who is currently training for nothing other than to not drunkenly kill over whilst on the crapper, riding three days in a row is not only strange, but sort of an effort at times. Yeah, I know, I’m not exactly setting the world afire with my speeds and distances, I’m not doing intervals, hill repeats or anything that stupid resembles a hardcore training regime, but I’m still riding at a “comfortably hard” pace (in between photos), a pace and structure that is often referred to as “junk miles” by racers and coaches that give a shit [foreshadowing, ask me later]. And sometimes my crap body feels it.
What-evs, with today being Veteran’s Day [thank you Vets], Wifey was off from work, but B-Man was at school. Part of me wanted to stay at home, draw a hot bubble bath full of love, and nakedly lounge around being all lovey dovey with my bosomy, ginger haired gal-pal. BUT, the other part of me wanted to get out for a ride of a different sort on the Boone.
Why can’t we do both? [TMI? I thought so, sorry].
