Mentally I’m shot too with 9-5 (more like 8-6 of late) office life taking its wretched toll. Colleagues have been talking at me for weeks now and I’ve somehow satisfied their needs by pretending to understand what the hell they are yakking on about. My incomprehensible grunts seem to answer their questions. Sleeping badly, every inch of me needs rest.
Yet still it takes enormous will power to take a weekend off cycling. The bad weather helped. So too the fact my bike needed some TLC after a winter spent slogging away on salty, muddy roads. It was less race bike and more a tractor. With the clocks going forward and stealing, that’s right, stealing an hour of my weekend, then I needed all the rest I could get.
Throughout winter my mileage has been short but intensity high. I don’t remember having felt so strong so early in the year. Taking a rest now will undo such work, my tiny mind thinks, when the reality is riding with tired legs will send me into a downward spiral. Progress will slow no matter how many times I shout HTFU.
So what does a bike nut do when they’re not riding? Bike stuff of course! A half-hearted bike clean (wet wipe special) and a mini service to make sure all is smooth. Glass picked out from tyres. Gears re-indexed. Brake pads checked. Chain oiled. I’m now more eager than ever before to get out and ride.
Yet rest I must. I watched the pro’s bouncing over Belgian cobbles, the wind literally blowing them into the canal. Finally, I was happy to be indoors and practice my little Buddhist mantra to encourage my legs to heal… heal… heal.
What else? Well there were new routes to plan and lost roads to discover if only on a map. Cycling blogs to write and cycling videos to watch. The Woody Allen hypochondriac in me also Googled away in search of miracle recovery cures, of which there are none. Just time off the bike. Bah.
A big summer awaits. Scotland, the Alps, Majorca. Rest I must.