I've failed at my last few attempts at Field Tests, those wonderful, puke-inducing efforts that Janice uses to gauge my fitness and set training levels. Either from being under-recovered, sick, or a number of other causes, I haven't been able to match on the levels I've reached before, so I am not sure exactly where my fitness lies at the moment- except in a very general way.
I've failed to keep off and/or lose all of the weight I planned to. A new baby and a traumatic brain injury might have contributed, but somehow I think my infant son can't be blamed. He's far too interested in his own food to be concerned with stuffing food down my throat. Nope, I did that, and I earned every pound that now graces my lumpy frame. My half-hearted attempts at weight loss thus far this year are a mere shadow of those I mustered only a year ago. That weight gain ain't all muscle, although I do harbor some faint hope that maybe a little of it is.
I've failed to finish any of the projects that I've started. I have two frames and a pile of parts that need to be joined into new rides for this year, another frame that needs to be built up so I can sell it, a matrix of parts-swapping between other bikes, and a plethora of smaller projects that I've been putting off. Navigating my garage requires climbing over the carcass of an old couch and piles of "really good stuff" that I haven't used in years but can't bear to part with. All of that was stacked up there while I was building my bike trainer dungeon, which is or isn't finished depending on your definition. The piles extend throughout the house, reminding me of the millions of little failures that were started with such great expectations.
Failure is something I'm learning to deal with. I'm not liking it, but hopefully I can start having little successes here or there to balance the score a bit. The days are getting longer, Anchorage's extremely mild winter might result in an early spring, those new bikes just might make me into a ProTour-level cyclist...
I can always hope.