See You Later, Fatty.

I knew I was out of shape, but it was humbling.
  
I showed up for the Sunday morning Evil Empire group ride, fully expecting to get my teeth kicked in. I had no illusions about being ready to ride, after completely giving up on any sort of structured training and not nearly enough intensity for the past couple months.
  
I got dropped. repeatedly. I couldn't hold the wheels. One minute I was there, and the next I was off the back. They'd wait, despite it being a "drop ride", and I'd eventually wheeze my way up to them. Nothing in the legs and nothing in the lungs.
  
While I was out there not riding, these guys were training and hiking and living good lives. Cheaters.
  
Without a race to look forward to, I'm just kinda rudderless. Every time I try to make a fresh start something pops up to wipe it off the map. Each time it becomes a little easier to give in. Each excuse becomes a little thinner.
  
Getting my teeth kicked in was a good start. Maybe that will lead to something good, something that I can focus on.
  
Races aren't going to do it this year. I'm just not interested in socially distanced, Strava races any more than I am in racing on Zwift. it's not the same thing. A spirited group ride isn't either, but it's closer.
  
Closer might just have to suffice.

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