Early parts of this week brought shit weather that included steady cold rains that made the dirt and gravel roads even more of a quagmire than they already were. This caused me to retreat to the Not So Stankment and time on the dreadmill and/or to The Chamber of Farts to climb under the covers and wish myself somewhere else.
When I rode last Saturday I returned home mentally broken like expelled wind forced betweenst the ass cheeks of a 300-pound hobo who just finished off a can of ice-cold pork ‘n’ beans. With that brokenness, I puttered and muttered through the week logging several miles of sprint intervals on the dreadmill, a session or two of pedaling nowhere fast on the trainer, perfecting my return to pescatarian eating (80% of the time), and many a night doing 12-ounce curls undoing all the work put into those workouts and diet changes.
Thankfully for all concerned that ended on Saturday when the temps warmed up and I forced myself out onto the slirty1 and snirty2 dirt roads.
It’s been 5 days since the Suckest Ride of 2018 v.1 and I’ve had little interest in returning outside since. My mind hasn’t been in the right place, not to mention the days have been all over the place this week due to the MLK holiday, B-Man having 1/2 days due to finals most of the week, an appointment, and a general slack and disinterest about most things not involving sleeping 18 hours a day.
After a week that was filled with doing a lot of stuff that I really didn’t want to do, I was looking forward to the weekend and getting out on my bike. I was, of course, prepared to ride in the snow, ice, and cold temps… it’s winter in Michigan, that shit happens.
Proper clothing, ice-gripping studs, fat tires, and a “Fuck it” (in a good way) attitude help one to make the best out of what winter throws your way, and I have nearly all of those things, yet I still came away from yesterday’s short ride mentally broken.
I was motivated to ride, I swear I was. I was up at 8 AM Saturday and dumping coffee down my throat as I watched FA Crap footy and waited for the temps to rise. The thing is, they never did.
That title is misleading. Sorry.
It’s been four days since I did an outdoor activity, it seems I will now only do a physical activity if the temp is 69˚ and there is wall to wall carpeting beneath me. That’s not really true, but it’s been true the past few days.
Never has so much nothing been done in a week filled with so much.
The week that was, er, wasn’t. There was very little riding over the last six days. There were a few trips down to the Not-So-Stankment to climb on the treadmill (including one five-mile walk, run, lumber-fest) and one trainer ride that lasted roughly 5 minutes before I said “fuck it” and quit.
After a few days away from home, it’s been nice to settle back in and to get some riding in. Monday’s ride was a quick loop north of town in the crisp morning air. Tuesday would bring spring-like temps to mid-Michigan, but would also bring steady winds with gusts exceeding 25 miles per hour.
If there is one universal truth concerning my “doing stuff” in the months of November through March it is that the size of my water bottles is reduced. Under the mid-morning August sun I might drain two large-sized water bottles during a ride, come November I’m either doing stupid workouts indoors or riding outside in the full-nip cold and, despite still being needed, sucking down large amounts of water is pretty unlikely. Thus I start sipping from a smaller bottle instead of big ass magnums. Whatever, it’s just an observation, moving on…
