Three weeks of mostly clouds and hour after hour of non-stop rain can really get under my skin. If I'm going to live in Pacific-Northwest conditions, I want the cheap prices and the majestic mountains to go with it.
This is what Douglas Adams, in his infinite wisdom, called the long, dark tea-time of the soul. Clients at the clinic slowly begin to stall, then lurch into that terrible nose dive therapists live in fear of. Entering the office this morning, I was greeted with the news that one of my clients was in the emergency room after a suicide attempt, the second in three weeks.
We were promised sun today, and through early next week, but I don't see much of it out there.
A friend and I have been planning a longer outing on Saturday, 50 miles in the hills, and given that my fitness seems to have come together as of last week, ain't nothing gonna hold me back. A quick shakedown this morning showed legs and lungs itching to run, chuffing and bucking like a thoroughbred in the starting gate. I kept it down to a couple sprints and a short interval; just a scrap or two to sharpen the hunger pangs. Saturday, I unleash the beast. I'll still be 20 seconds behind Todd at the top of the hill, but at least it won't be two minutes, like it was the first couple times we rode. I'll consider that a victory.
Pray for clear skies and cool temps, but if you're out in the hills of Ashfield or Conway, driving in a pouring rain, look for me anyway.
Crazy guy on a very red bike -- with or without wingman.