Getting Old.

Last night was a pleasant 50F. No wind. Mostly clear skies. Dry roads. During early April in Alaska, it doesn't get much better than that.

I was bundled up far more than I usually am for such conditions. I still felt cold. Muscle-aching cold, that loosened up over the miles but never really left me. The ache was a built-in governor, blunting whatever force I could apply to the pedals to an unsatisfying "close but not what I had in mind". The ache affected the space between my ears, further slowing my progress. "Don't push it". I was on the road, but I wasn't all there.

The youngest spent the day at home with his mother after a night of puking. I should have stayed home as well, because I likely caught whatever he has. Maybe it was just lack of sleep. Maybe it was the remnants of a series of sugar rushes and inevitable crashes from the Snickers bars I was using to make it through the day when actual food didn't do the trick.

Whatever the reason, I wasn't all there. Some days are like that. Still beats not being there at all.

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