Alaskan Pack Fodder

The kids gave me yet another cold, and my power has a serious hit. I'm trying to complete every workout, but sometimes I just crumple and have to limp my way through the rest. Other times I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, so it isn't all gloom and doom. No matter how bad I fail, I still feel better after I get off the bike than before I got on, which keeps me coming back for more. I could let my failure to complete all of my scheduled intervals at the prescribed intensity get me down, but I have a lot of trainer hours ahead of me before it will really matter. I do what I can, and walk away satisfied with the effort.   Every night I sleep with my cheeks full of cough drops like a chipmunk with the sniffles, doped up on cough medicine. Every morning I wake up with a sore throat and clogged up sinuses. One of these days I won't, and the numbers will start creeping back up. I'll start building again, instead of just trying to maintain.   I look forward to th...

My workplace has a very well-stocked snack bar. By well-stocked, I don't mean it has a wide variety of items to allow one to make prudent diet choices while still satisfying their taste buds. No, it is pretty much comprised of the absolute worst "food-esque" items you can find, and vast quantities of them. The few "healthy" items present were purchased in a weak attempt to be a good alternative, taste like cardboard, and usually expire before they are consumed. The snack bar is a monument to everything that is wrong with the food in America.   I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame.   The joys I temporarily find in the sugary embrace of a cinnamon roll inevitably lead to deep pangs of regret, but I return time and again. I read the label and note the calorie content, but by that time it's too late. I'm already a lost soul. My will power crumbles in the face of processed sugars. I'm a weak man.   My lofty goals of losing weight befor...