July ended with increasing miles on the bike and decreasing numbers on the scale. Still, my plan for Sunday was to take the day off from workouts or rides and just goof off.
That was the plan, then about an hour after I wrote a blog post and started said plan for goofing off, I headed to the Not So Stankment to get on the Dreadmill. In other words, the plan failed.
I got out Thursday morning for a ride, but it soon became apparent that I didn’t have it in me. I was riding right into a steady wind that combined with overnight rain and morning sun to make things an un-fun, sticky mess. I did 15 miles, and that would have to scratch my workout itch for the day.
I felt pretty good about my fitness after Saturday’s ride, so I was eager to get back out on Sunday.
I waffled back and forth about whether I wanted to ride from the Cul-De-Sac Shack or ride from a Soiled Chamois Approved Dirt Road Ride Launching Pad south of town. In the end, I decided to try and save time and beat the heat and shadeless sun by leaving from the house. I also hoped to add another mile or two to my Better Than The Trainer Ride™ along the way and help it lose said moniker.
Shortly after hitting the publish button on my last post and digesting my daily Soiled Egg (White) Sammich, I gathered my bottles and gear, found my fender, stuffed myself into some too-small bibs and the only jersey I have that fits, and headed out for a SLIGHTLY Better Than The Trainer Ride™ before any rain moved back into the area.
This all seems very familiar to me. And by “this,” I mean writing a post about something I did 2 days ago and now having little desire to write about. And not just because it wasn’t that interesting!
Yet, I still write. Sorry.
For better or worse, I was on a bit of a roll with posting. Then I didn’t for a few days; now I don’t know where to begin. Shit.
From what I can remember, I’ve been balls deep into watching my food intake and working out every single blessed goddamn day like I’m an Olympian as I try to lose the weight that so cleverly attached itself to me via years of being on the antidepressant hamster wheel.
There has been no ride since my last ride. That’s a bummer, but I’ve tried to keep moving with six nine miles of Dreadmill lumbering over the past two three days. Me walking/jogging on a treadmill is not exactly blog-worthy1, but as I so often say here on these ill-written digital pages of digital suck, “yet here we are.”
I was up at 6:15 AM on Friday to embrace whatever fresh hell moderate inconveniences the day might throw at me. It’s been raining for like three days straight, and when it’s not raining, it’s gloomy as fuck as if it were raining. So it took a few extra guzzles of coffee and the promise of sunshine later in the day to finally convince me to start thinking about possibly leaving the house to ride my bike.
Not to sound like a broken record, but allow me to apologize for the previous post. The stomachal mayhem that I dealt with for four days was not particularly good blog fodder. I want to say it will never happen again, but you and I both know that it will.
Wednesday, I needed to shoot over to the local lab to get some bloodwork done, and then it was home to the savory arms of a 225 calorie Soiled Egg Sammich2 before getting into some kit, looking at myself in the mirror, thinking about taking the kit off and downing a bottle of gin, aborting that boozy plan for some reason, and then going for a short 20-mile dirt road ride that hurt like it was 120.