Another soggy, gray day here in paradise. So, I went out anyway. (Insert smiley-face here.) I'm feeling fit and strong, like I might actually be able to make the super-hilly Memorial Day 70-miler my friend invited me to. I'm right on the razor-thin edge of over-training: I can go faster than ever, and rarely get winded, but I'm a le-e-etle bit tired all the time. Time to pull back to maintenance rides, to lay in wait in the bush, sharpening my machete and mixing the war paint. ("I will not ride competitively. I will not ride competitively. Etc.")
Meantime, I...
1) ... follow the Giro (yawn... Alberto "Babyface" Contador, contented and mature... as long as he's got 4:30 on his nearest competitor);
2) ... continue mad-scientist experiments to perfect my home espresso; and...
3) ... last, but certainly not least, deal with my dad's illness, and help him and the family deal with it.
You know -- life.
3 comments:
Loving the war paint image. Hating that your Dad is sick. Go do the 70miler and beat the pain out of your soul.
Yes! Ease back a bit and then unload the big guns this weekend. Somebody must pay (for whatever.)
Thanks for the encouragement and smiles, guys!
Post a Comment