Monday afternoon, after yet another 300 mile week, I just couldn't manage to swing a leg over the top tube, even for a few easy laps around the base. I napped, ate, watched TV, surfed the internet, and generally tried to recover.

Tuesday, at the Destroyer ride, I felt flat. I could manage decent sustained power, but had no top end.

Wednesday was a repeat of Monday. I sat around the room and listened to the "Pulp Fiction" soundtrack. More eating. More napping. More web surfing. More doing nothing.
Looking back, I haven't done anything remotely resembling a real recovery week in two months. The closest was when I only rode 244 miles. My Chronic Training Load is at all-time high, by a large margin. I can smell the burnout eminating from my fat rolls.
Riding the same routes over and over for this many miles can get stale in even the most engaging of locations. In some places, there's dramatic scenery and climbs and descents and switchbacks and all that sort of stuff. The really, really good stuff that keeps you engaged through hours of maybe not-so-ideal conditions.
This is not one of those locales. While I've found some routes that lead to places that have their own charms, they have started to feel... stale. Hours and hours in the sun with the sun and humidity sapping the energy out of you. At a certain point climbing out of bed becomes the hardest battle.
I'll get back out there and start grinding out the miles again, because before long I'll be grinding them out while going nowhere. I know this, but I also know that I need to rest a little before the final push. Two weeks to go. Two weeks to put a few more miles under the tires. Two weeks to grind myself into oblivion.
First, I need a nap.


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