If I had known when I left home how I would feel when I got to work, I would caught the bus. If there is one thing about riding that stands out, it is how much it amplifies how your body is doing. At the first sign of ill-health or a sniffle, I really cop it. Today was like that. The legs were pumping like mighty pistons, but my lungs felt like I was inhaling aersoled napalm.
The legs always go like titans after a few days off. I presume that if I took any notice of my timings into work, I would find that Mondays are always the fastest day - although paradoxically, I force myself to take it easy so that I am not a blithering mess by Thursday. For most people, Mondays seem to be a nightmare, whereas for me, they are bliss on a bike. Fridays are always the nasty day, as the kilometerage is being pushed higher and higher and I am at the tail end of my energy and perserverence, and all my leg muscles feel like overstretched rubber bands that are ready to pop at any moment. Some might look forward to a cleansing ale on Friday afternoon - I sometimes just think, "God, let's get this over with". Bum sore. Legs tight. Motivation left at work in the rubbish bin.
It's then that the lack of an alternative way of getting home kicks in. There's nothing like having no alternative to get you moving. I need the smallest number and choice of transport options, not many.
A famine rather than a feast.
No comments:
Post a Comment