The Beatings Will Continue Until You Stop Sucking.
I met with She Who Must Be Obeyed the other day at a local coffee shop. I felt a little dirty when I entered, because they sponsor half of what once was the Evil Empire. To be fair, Kaladi does a lot of good things in the community and supports a lot of worthy organizations, which almost makes up for their sponsorship of a pack of conniving scoundrels (that are a lot of fun to race with).
I showed up 15 minutes early, so Janice wouldn't see me consume 6,327 calories in pastries. That also gave me a chance to practice sucking in my gut so she wouldn't send me to fat camp. I think I sneaked that one by her.
We went over what I had been doing for the last couple months during my annual abandonment of all things structured. She looked at the numbers and said I was working to hard and was about due for a decades-long crash if I didn't slow down a tad. This is something I instinctively knew, but now that she said it there is a sense of legitimacy to the sentiment. I place little faith on my own perceptions, except for those that pertain to everyone else. I'm not exactly the most self-aware fella you'll ever meet.
We talked a little about long-term goals and working to improve my pitiful time trial skills, while further developing my nascent (some would say embryonic) sprinting abilities. Essentially it's going to involve her crafting a masterpiece of sports performance management, and then me crapping all over it before exploding in a impotent heap. Yep, that pretty much sums up how I approach training.
Zwift is going to factor in there. The Dome is too. My 6,000 DVDs of old cycling races are going to play a role. The hope is adding a little variety will make the time go by faster and perhaps improve my overall capabilities. Ask me how that played out next spring.
I guess it's time to start buckling down and get to the real work.
I showed up 15 minutes early, so Janice wouldn't see me consume 6,327 calories in pastries. That also gave me a chance to practice sucking in my gut so she wouldn't send me to fat camp. I think I sneaked that one by her.
We went over what I had been doing for the last couple months during my annual abandonment of all things structured. She looked at the numbers and said I was working to hard and was about due for a decades-long crash if I didn't slow down a tad. This is something I instinctively knew, but now that she said it there is a sense of legitimacy to the sentiment. I place little faith on my own perceptions, except for those that pertain to everyone else. I'm not exactly the most self-aware fella you'll ever meet.
We talked a little about long-term goals and working to improve my pitiful time trial skills, while further developing my nascent (some would say embryonic) sprinting abilities. Essentially it's going to involve her crafting a masterpiece of sports performance management, and then me crapping all over it before exploding in a impotent heap. Yep, that pretty much sums up how I approach training.
Zwift is going to factor in there. The Dome is too. My 6,000 DVDs of old cycling races are going to play a role. The hope is adding a little variety will make the time go by faster and perhaps improve my overall capabilities. Ask me how that played out next spring.
I guess it's time to start buckling down and get to the real work.
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