I chuckle to myself as I key this entry because I can say with almost absolute certainty that there is no one who will be reading it. I figure I should key it in anyway so that those who stumble upon The Slow Spoke by accident, or whatever, are aware that this “blog” is still alive and really, is in its infancy. I still struggle with finding time to type anything “real” but refuse to give up on this whole blog thing. I’m hoping someday soon to have a blog worth reading but for now I’ll stick with my meagre attempts to entertain – even if I’m only entertaining myself.......LOL
Training has been going according to schedule these past couple of months starting on the trainer and running on the treadmill. I was happy this week and last however to be out, away from the spot on the wall I’d been staring at for the duration of my workout sessions. The weather had been good enough (right around freezing but sunny) for me to venture outside on the bike for some rides on the road using the CX bike. There’s nothing like a good headwind to knock you back into reality. It screams; “Hey bud! You think you were getting into shape inside the house do you? Fight this, bitch!” You pedal along suffering more and more with every revolution while sucking in cold air which, ironically, burns your throat to hell. I won’t even get into how much snot is running down your face. For me, it’s not the burning throat or snot that keeps me coming back though. It’s the pain. Oh the pain. It’s what I use to gauge progress. “It hurt this much yesterday but this much today. Hey! That’s a slight improvement!” Who needs HR monitors or some costly way of measuring wattage? Screw that..... That being said, I do at the same time hate this time of year. I hate how demoralising outdoor riding really is. It hurts; physically and emotionally. It serves as a good reminder as to just how lazy you were for the few months leading up to this point.
Yesterday I was hit again. I think Mother Nature felt I was doing a little too well and possibly getting the upper hand (in terms of my training/fitness) and decided to fight back in the only way she can. She has dumped a HUGE load of snow on us again which forces me back into the basement to stare at the same old spot on my freaking wall. I hate that wall and I really don’t want to go down there. Seriously! I think I’m going to name it. I figure that’ll be OK as long as I don’t start talking to it. Worse yet I suppose is if it starts answering back. Then again, maybe I’ll just turn my stuff around and face a different spot. I think that would just be weird though. Me and the wall - I guess we have a thing going. I hate you wall.
