I'd Better Not.

Sunday night I pre-positioned my kit like I always do to make the transition from bed to trainer as seamless and quiet as possible, on the off-chance I miraculously recovered from Saturday and Sunday's excesses. 
  
On a good day, I can be on the trainer fairly quickly. The vast majority of days are not what you would call good days. Usually I procrastinate and generally find excuses not to get on the trainer, until I'm on the ragged edge of not having sufficient time to do the workout, cool off enough so I'm not sweating the entire time I'm in the shower, and get ready for work.
 
Monday morning I woke up with the alarm. So far, so good. Then I tried to roll to my left, and a wave of dull aches and pains washed over me. I stretched as much as I could without waking up the wife, but the muscles still felt completely deflated. Even a nutritious bacon cheeseburger meal from the Tastee Freez and a more or less sufficient night of sleep wasn't enough to pump some air back into the flabby pockets of fat I call muscles.
 
I hit the snooze button a few times. It didn't get any better. It just wasn't happening. I wasn't surprised.
  
I'm not sure I'm going to feel much better today, but I have to make sure this rest and recovery thing doesn't become my new training plan. I'm already world-class at fucking off, so I need to target my weaknesses- like actual work.
 
We'll see when the alarm goes off.

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