The snow of Sunday gave way to sun, and melting snows on Monday; followed by days of rain. Pretty typical spring weather. With that, saddle time has been non-existent, but sometimes I’m OK with that. As life goes on, cycling is something I like to do, not something I have to do, rely on for my identity, feel pressure to do, or rely on for my sanity. Sorry, I digress.
It was here; I swear it was! Just for a moment spring was here. And just like that [insert finger snap here], it’s gone.
I recognize the words I throw up from the rotting nether regions of my head and onto these digital pages are vital to everyone’s day. I totally get that and apologize for the ongoing gaps between posts.
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.
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.
Sweet Gabriel Jesus, it took me forever to beat that chest cold, but I finally did it!
With many horses beaten and a few more bishops flogged, I’ve returned with another missal of life calamity.
My ongoing illness—well into its third week—had me returning to the doctor on Wednesday.
