Oh, That.
Moments before I walked out to the garage to get on the trainer, the youngest ran out of his room and began puking on the kitchen floor. I appreciated his aim, as the carpet has seen its share of abuse over the years from other kids and pets. So, wearing my cycling kit and shoes, I knelt on the floor and cleaned up the mess. He felt better, and climbed into my spot in bed next to my wife.
My start delayed, I jumped right into ignoring my training plan. At about the halfway point, just after a sprint to take a virtual green jersey that means nothing, I started to notice I was sweating a lot more than usual. I pushed on, proud of my newfound ability to make my fat cry. Two-thirds of the way through, it was literally pouring off me in steady streams, and I began to worry. I had already downed a 28oz water bottle, and that almost never happens in under 45 minutes.
Then I noticed my useless SAD light was off, which indicated my fan was off as well because they are on the same power strip. In my rush to get the party started, I forgot to turn it on once I was warm enough. Yeah, that explains it.
For the rest of the workout, I backed off and tried to get things back under control. Apparently my fat is a drama queen, because it kept right on crying. The storm surge on the mat under my trainer had mobilized an all-hands FEMA response.
After I cooled down and stopped leaking, I quickly jumped on the scales to get a completely inaccurate reading on how my weight battles were going, figuring dehydration was going to at least have one benefit. Nope, still fat. Fatter than I have been in over five years. I gotta get a handle on that.
I also have to remember to turn on the fan.
My start delayed, I jumped right into ignoring my training plan. At about the halfway point, just after a sprint to take a virtual green jersey that means nothing, I started to notice I was sweating a lot more than usual. I pushed on, proud of my newfound ability to make my fat cry. Two-thirds of the way through, it was literally pouring off me in steady streams, and I began to worry. I had already downed a 28oz water bottle, and that almost never happens in under 45 minutes.
Then I noticed my useless SAD light was off, which indicated my fan was off as well because they are on the same power strip. In my rush to get the party started, I forgot to turn it on once I was warm enough. Yeah, that explains it.
For the rest of the workout, I backed off and tried to get things back under control. Apparently my fat is a drama queen, because it kept right on crying. The storm surge on the mat under my trainer had mobilized an all-hands FEMA response.
After I cooled down and stopped leaking, I quickly jumped on the scales to get a completely inaccurate reading on how my weight battles were going, figuring dehydration was going to at least have one benefit. Nope, still fat. Fatter than I have been in over five years. I gotta get a handle on that.
I also have to remember to turn on the fan.
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