In theory, the latest plan for rewiring my entire musculoskeletal system has me spinning on the trainer for a half-hour every other day, passing the time in somber contemplation of pedal-stroke mechanics. The first great flaw in this plan is that it's really, really boring. The second is that—with the exception of the biblical deluge I got for my birthday last week—it's not raining. And let's be real, here: indoor riding has nothing on June-uary.
Consequently, I gave up and rode-rode today (all of 30 miles). I had crystal-clear views of the bay; climbing was slow but survivable and descending felt like some sort of rapturous bear-hug from favorable laws of physics. And the-eeen I got home:
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| Post-Pinehurst-Wildcat. Seriously. |
Note the Cheeseboard carcass and the foam roller, intended for my rightfully pissed-off left hip and misappropriated—due to my inability to move far enough to use it—for couch cuddling. Eagle eyes may also spot West Wing DVDs and a pound of Trader Joe's dark chocolate.
Oh, this is going to take a while.
1 comments:
awwww
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