domingo, 11 de enero de 2015

First proper ride of the year

First you break your collarbone back in early November.

Then, when the doctors give you permission to go back on the bike you drag your feet and you don't really ride as you said you would.

If the the logical drop of CTL where not enough you add 4kgs to your body weight during Christmas (I could blame my mother, but that would be too mean, even for me).

And if all these would not probe enough how silly you confirmed it deciding to join a 85m ride to Chilterns that was announced as "K2 pace, for experience riders only". I should have read "too tough for you my unfit and fatty friend" but I couldn't help but read "That's exactly what you need".

I can't say I didn't know what I was doing, specially seeing who was at Laithwaites waiting to join the ride. But, hey, I set very low expectations. I was prepared to be dropped at some point. The idea was to push myself to let the ball of year preparation start rolling.

Things went better than expected. I made it to the coffee stop with the group and the second half was even better. At some point I thought I was going to be able to finish the ride with the group, but reality soon came to put my feet on the ground.

By Lower Sunbury road I was dropped, luckily the traffic light at the A308 was red so I could join the group. But that was a mirage, before Hampton Court I was dropped again. 

Now, here is the thing. When I started the ride I was expecting to be dropped but being dropped that close to the end really annoyed me. I hate to be dropped. I shouldn't because I get dropped so often that I should be used to it by now. As said sometimes I even expect it, but I still hate it. To give you an idea I prefer the Spanish national football team to lose the world champion final more than I being dropped once.

And the worst of today being dropped is how tired I was. Empty, wasted, you put the adjetive and it won't be short of how I felt. Basically I had to spin at 11 km/h all the way home, it took me ages. More time to enjoy my anger and frustration. Switching to another sport looked like a sensible option, chess, darts or snooker looked like the best candidates.

By the time I got home the idea of going upstairs to take a shower made me think that installing one of this would be a great investment for the house, even if I don't know the rules of some of them.

The beauty of all this is that after the shower, a good lunch (which meant some pain walking down the stairs) and writing all this to pity myself I am now thinking when is going to be the next one. Some of my close ones think I'm crazy.

Take care
Javier Arias González

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