A session on the trainer was about the last thing I wanted to do after work.
A long day filled with administrivia wore me out. Sunday I had nothing at the tank, fading significantly after just three minutes of honest effort. Monday's "rest day" was characterized by aches and pains, followed by a persistent hacking cough and a restless night. Tuesday was not shaping up to be a dramatic improvement on any front.
When I got home, I climbed into bed and promised myself I would get ready in 15 minutes. 15 became 30. 30 became 45. 45 became... 90 minutes later I finally dragged myself from under the covers and suited up. I knew in my heart it wasn't going to be pretty. No matter how rested Training Peaks indicated I was, I wasn't going to be able to do much more than make a half-hearted attempt at turning over the pedals.
Turns out I was wrong.
As soon as the legs started moving, I found I could sustain something approaching respectable power. I took a stab at a Zwift sprint and got a personal best time, soundly beating the current leader. I pushed on, putting in a respectable lap time. My times for climbs were among my best. I took another sprint. I felt great.
I was riding a short burst of form that I never saw coming.
Some people can tell with a high degree of accuracy how they're going to perform on a given day by how they feel. Me? I have no idea. Some days I feel crappy and ride crappy. Some days I feel crappy and ride far beyond expectations. Some days I feel great but couldn't outrun a 3 year old on a kick bike. I can't seem to balance perception and reality with any real consistency.
Even the mountains of data I seem to compile provide few clues over the short term of how I will perform. Over the long term I can see trends and make futile efforts to avoid a catastrophic crash, but day-to-day is a complete crapshoot. Janice could probably tell me, but the one skill I've honed to perfection is my ability to disregard her sage advice. I might want to reassess my skill-development priorities.
Tomorrow I might fall over from the exertion of throwing my leg over the top tube. That would certainly be in line with established patterns. I rarely have a string of form that lasts more than a day or two before something beats me down.
One thing is sure, though. I'll never see it coming.


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