Well, I Found The Edge.
Ever since I got back on my bike after falling off, I've pretty much followed a rhythm. Six days of riding and then a day off. Some days, usually because of available time, are longer than others. Some days have more short-duration intensity. Some have a higher overall average. Some are just kinda meh.
For the last three and a half months, I've been pretty much chugging along. Here and there I had dead legs for one reason or another, but they'd usually come around and the upward trend would continue. I knew it couldn't last without a correction.
It didn't.
The last three days, despite laying around and doing pretty much nothing in all of its holiday glory, my legs were aching and lacking any sort of energy. Stairs have been a complete joy, if by "joy" you mean dull pains radiating from my calf muscles. When I got on the trainer, finishing an hour was a real grind. I'd ramp up for sprints just to distract myself, but my heart just wasn't in it. I had truly and properly cooked myself.
Tomorrow is a rest day. When I get back on the day after, I'll probably feel much better. However, if I'm smart I'll back off for the remainder of the week and let my muscles heal. I've never been smart, and I doubt I'll start now.
My squiggly lines are higher than they normally are this time of year, although slightly lower than they were last year after I came back from Mississippi. Then again, this time last year they were steadily falling instead of climbing. The current trend is more encouraging.
I'll pick a scientifically calculated arbitrary number to try to level off at, then cruise there for a while. Just before the season starts, I'll start upping the intensity and build towards some goal. Chances are, I'll get sick somewhere in there and all of my plans will go out of the window. At least, that's how most years end up.
The big thing now is to recognize that my body needs a little time to rest and recover. I haven't asked an excessive amount from it, but it's telling me that I'm pushing my luck.
I should probably listen.
For the last three and a half months, I've been pretty much chugging along. Here and there I had dead legs for one reason or another, but they'd usually come around and the upward trend would continue. I knew it couldn't last without a correction.
It didn't.
The last three days, despite laying around and doing pretty much nothing in all of its holiday glory, my legs were aching and lacking any sort of energy. Stairs have been a complete joy, if by "joy" you mean dull pains radiating from my calf muscles. When I got on the trainer, finishing an hour was a real grind. I'd ramp up for sprints just to distract myself, but my heart just wasn't in it. I had truly and properly cooked myself.
Tomorrow is a rest day. When I get back on the day after, I'll probably feel much better. However, if I'm smart I'll back off for the remainder of the week and let my muscles heal. I've never been smart, and I doubt I'll start now.
My squiggly lines are higher than they normally are this time of year, although slightly lower than they were last year after I came back from Mississippi. Then again, this time last year they were steadily falling instead of climbing. The current trend is more encouraging.
I'll pick a scientifically calculated arbitrary number to try to level off at, then cruise there for a while. Just before the season starts, I'll start upping the intensity and build towards some goal. Chances are, I'll get sick somewhere in there and all of my plans will go out of the window. At least, that's how most years end up.
The big thing now is to recognize that my body needs a little time to rest and recover. I haven't asked an excessive amount from it, but it's telling me that I'm pushing my luck.
I should probably listen.
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