Overdoing It.

For those reading this blog, it seems like only yesterday that I was in Anchorage, trying to sneak in rides between chilly rain.
I wish.
I hate flying, and flying to Biloxi always adds insult to injury. I got off the plane beat up, with a lot of heavy luggage to cart around. By the time I got settled into my "home" for the next couple months, I had two hours of light left and zero interest in riding. I unpacked, went shopping for unhealthy frozen food/beer, and put my bike together. That was all I had in me.
Sunday dawned and it still took me a couple hours to get moving. Eventually I got out, settling on an easy pace to try to find the routes I'd done before.
Greasy sweat.
That's the only way I can describe what it's like on the Gulf Coast. It's like you were droppped in a vat of pork BBQ drippings. It isn't as fun as it may sound. The sweat doesn't evaporate. It just sits there, oozing around on your skin. 
Initially the miles fell away easily. It helps when there aren't any hills of note in front of you. Then I started noticing the power and speed start to drop. My bottles had barely been touched, and despite my tardy response I paid for it. Three hours in and I slowed to a crawl, Four hours and I wasn't sure who or where I was. All I knew was that I needed to keep going. 
My neck and shoulders started locking up. My legs threatened to cramp. I swerved here and there until, each time admonishing myself to keep my head up and pay attention to where I was going. Eventually I would fail, and the cycle would begin again.
Less than a mile from the end of my ride, it started raining. Where was this two hours before? I found the strength to ooze my way home before the "lightning within 5 miles" announcements started. I carried the bike up the stairs, pausing at each landing to rest. Mental capacity dropped to zero, and I fumbled for minutes with my key card before I got into my room.
I climbed into the shower in my kit, letting the water run over me and wash the ooze down the drain. As I returned to the world of the living, I realized that "lightning within 5 miles" was probably not the best time to be showering. Reluctantly, I crawled out until the storm passed.
It's been a long time since I bonked that severely. Might not be the last time while I'm here. Killing down time will mainly involve saddle time, as the alternatives get expensive and aren't nearly as rewarding. Eventually I'll acclimate, adjusting to the increased volume/heat/humidity. Eventually the weather will change to something more... 
In the meantime, I'll keep trying to overdo it until the bar is moved to a place where overdoing it is the new normal. Then I'll overdo it some more. By the time I get home, I'll probably be completely burnt out. This will be completely fine, because I have all winter to recover.  I'm going to overdo it, because I have the opportunity to over do it. My road season in Alaska would have been limited to a handful of weeks. My season down here is extended by months.  I'll ride and ride and ride until I can't ride anymore. 
To not ride myself into the ground would be criminal.


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