Since the flu hit, I have 15 or 20 minutes of power before everything shuts down and I limp towards the end of my workout.
I've tried metering it out to extend it to the full workout, but the results are the same. 20 minutes of decent and 40 minutes of pitiful flailing. 
To be honest, I'm surprised I have that 20 minutes in me. Recently I just shuffle around like an old man, always keeping an eye out for a nice place to sit and maybe catch a nap. 
Peaking, I ain't. 
Even with the less than awe-inspiring wattage displays, I am happy to be moving again. I'm always terrified when I have a break from the bike, as if a couple days will undo years of compulsion. Still, it wasn't so long ago (relatively speaking) that I had to inhale sharply and hold my breath to tie my shoes. I still remember that guy. He still lingers around my midsection, waiting for his chance to pounce like an obese panther, fangs dripping with Twinkie innards.
20 minutes of power puts a little more distance between me and the Twinkie panther. If racing has taught me anything, it's that 20 minutes of effort can be the difference between being in the mix and being on the couch.
I'd rather be in the mix.


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