Time: 43.07min going, 38.33min home
Weather: Morning was clear, bit nippy. Afternoon was dark, looming clouds, lightening, thunder, smattering of rain made me ride fast before the bottom fell out.
Pouting on Couch
Am back in the saddle. Skipped 3 days of biking. Not struck by thunder, didn't have flatter tires, didn't fall. Didn't fracture my tibia, fibula, or spare ribbia. Didn't break anything except my pride and will. Pouted on the couch the whole weekend. Soothed bitter soul with lemon sorbet.
On Saturday, after two weeks of committed biking, I jumped on the scale and had officially gained 5lbs./2kilos. Wanted to vomit. Kick bike all the way down the canal. Into canal.
Pile of rusty bikes from other frustrated cyclists removed from canal by cleaning crew
Rabo Mood Sours, Too
Manure smelling mood matched that of the Rabobank Riders weekend Tour performance.The guys weren't even showing up in the wide angle, helicopter shots.
Team Leader Breukink was speaking to all of us when he said, “Their style of riding is not relaxed; they are too anxious and they are trying to force too much. There is no flow. Numerous factors made success in the first week impossible and then the pressure starts to work counterproductively."
Not My Job
The Rabo guys have to ride. Even if/when they don't want to. It's their job. Not my job. Easier to pout and protest to the inner commentator. Mental game. Have no coach, no sponsor and no waterboy.
Nobody is going to jump out of a car, ratchet my rigor mortis bones off the denim sofa and give me a running push start...when I don't feel like it.
Chat with Self
Can I beat or be the inner commentator? Well, I'm not the Dutch Oprah McGraw. Trouble applauding self and my persistently inconsistent daily regimen. Am proud of self on days that I ride. But, cannot combat scale evilness with positive self back patting.
"Oh Tammie, who cares if you gain, you are riding your bike and bringing joy and inspiration with your poetic canal prose and remarkable BlackBerry photography," chortles me to my silly self.
Remarkable Blackberry photography, had to cross little bike bridge and ride on other side of the canal because of the canal cleaners.
In the last few days, heard several supportive affirmations like: body busy building muscle, muscle weighing more than fat, give it another month, and soon you'll see results in your pants and the way you feel. Gag. Boooo. Hiss. Middle pointing finger. And thank you. Really. My gift to you: 5 pounds of pure muscle.
I do NOT with a capital NOT comprehend the mathematics, chemistry and metabolism involved in me riding more than 100 miles and not losing weight. "Ride faster. Ride slower. Ride further. Switch up your pace. Vary your routine. Swim the canal to work." All very encouraging comments from Marion Freijson, triathlete. She didn't suggest the swim the canal thing, but I know she wanted to.
I'm Just a Girl
I am human, a real girl sometimes. American. I need results. Without results, visible results, I fold and fall apart like a deck of wet cards made out of wet toilet paper being held ever so loosely in a soggy, recycled paper bag.
Can climb the hill, can make the ride in under 40 minutes, can make the effort to write about it no matter how embarrassing. Just need body to respond.
Number who passed me going in: 15
Number who passed me coming home: 5
Number I passed: 4, woohoo. 1 lady stopped to put on raincoat. And, a mom with two kids counts as 3 when I pass.
Bug casualties: 1 suicide eye bomber.
Song of the day: Mustang Sally aka Ride Sally Ride by Commitments with very gay accompanying dance line video instructions.
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