Then There's The Downside.

As I mentioned yesterday, my performance numbers keep creeping up.
  
Unfortunately, they're not alone.
  
My weight this morning was 15 pounds heavier than it was the day I smacked into the pavement. 15 pounds in less than four months.
  
Initially I didn't gain any weight. I wasn't burning many calories and I didn't change my eating habits (if it came near my face I was having a few bites), but nothing changed.
  
One day it started inching up. I wasn't concerned, because it was to be expected. A couple pounds is nothing. It will all go away when I get back on the bike.
  
When I got back on the bike, the weight kept climbing, which concerned me a bit. I started watching what I ate, which means I opened my eyes and examined the mass quantities before I shoved them in my mouth. It didn't help.
  
The more intensity I add, the more hours I ride, the more weight I gain. I'm not quite delusional enough to think it's muscle mass. I'm plenty delusional, but not that delusional.
  
You know what? Screw it. My body is probably storing food at the moment because it doesn't know what exactly I'm trying to accomplish. It probably figures it better have some reserves in case el Fucktard keeps going with this exercise crap. It was probably fooled into believing I had come to my senses during the two-month layoff. Guess what? I haven't.

Unless I get this back under control, next year is going to be a continuation of the last few crappy years of racing for me. They call it a power-to-weight ratio for a reason, and my ratio at the moment is a little askew.
  
Guess I better put the fork down.

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