Ena left the house early, so I hung back in order to get the kids off to school in a timely manner. After they were out the door I made myself eggs, wheat toast and coffee. Fuel for the ride in. Low calorie, a decent shot of protein and of course caffeine. I was already late, so I figured that I might as well enjoy a meal, where I didn’t have to balance myself and it while riding down the road avoiding divots or be on guard for those car doors that seem to swing out at the best and worst of possible times. If I lose my coffee, because someone was being thoughtless, it’s not going to be a good morning for either party involved.
The air was crisp. Sorta on the cusp between seasonably average and just south of that. I went with my late fall line. I can still get away with my 2011 get-up without fear of ridicule from Tim Gunn. There will come a day, when this will not be so. Winter tights, a jersey (no arm warmers) and my Gore jacket were the tools of today. No headwear, or booties. No headwear would prove to be a mistake that would be fixed on the fly. I wore my fall gloves to, because according to the calendar, it’s still fall. Super Genius…
Before I pedal a stroke, I notice that I forgot to turn on my Garmin 705. Shit! It’s boots like a PC. I could literally go back into the house and watch The View, while getting in touch with my sacred feminine and celebrate the moments of my life over some International Coffee.
It boots, I go. My face is frozen within 2 miles. The strap on my helmet is slapping my ear. Not a pleasant experience, even for those that find pleasure in unpleasant pursuits. Make the adjustment, wipe the tears away and keep the cadence up.
My body temperature was all out of sorts. I was sweating up top with my hands freezing. I prefer to freeze and stay dry as opposed to stewing in my own juices, while small streams of frigid air sneak past my blast shield. No stopping to towel off. Just keep it moving.
I’ve noticed that since I’ve really dedicated myself to this here discipline, that when the spirit isn’t willing, the body usually is. The same can be said in reverse. The “sweet spot” is where the spirit and the body find accord. When neither spirit or body really feel like coming out to play, you crack something cold open take it in deep and then get back to fucking work!
My hands come the 40th minute were about 10 minutes from becoming inoperable. I’ve been using my mountain bike as my other commuter is on the injured reserve. The usual action on the trigger shifters is easy. When your hands are operating at 60% the force needed to shift gears can feel like pushing an anvil up a steep grade. An immature anvil anyway. At this point find a fairly easy gear to spin and when need be, go anaerobic.
I love this game…