Riding this week has been much tougher than last week. By tonight, my leg muscles were a mess. They weren't helped by a badly bungled hill start last night - I had to stop on a very, very steep hill for road works, and when I kicked off, my cleat failed to clip into the pedal properly. That foot slipped wildly off the pedal, I almost started going backwards, and I came within a bee's dick of falling over. The whole shambles resulted in me lightly tearing the quads in both legs. I didn't feel it at the time, but it certainly kicked in about 15 minutes later when I opened the taps in Lilyfield. It was bloody agony there for a minute.
This hasn't been helped by the pace of work picking up. I've had to dial back my departure to 7am, which is no bad thing, but I am not getting home until after sundown. I still try to pack in a full day of doing stuff, which means I am not getting as much rack time as necessary. That explains the impromptu snoozes after dinner.
Regardless of the sore legs, I rode again today. I thought about catching the bus for a few seconds, and then rejected that idea out of hand. So long as I can stand up, I will ride. The first wee hill was nasty - the legs just didn't want to go anywhere near it, but I managed to coax them to the top. I thought that by the time I got into town, they would have warmed up, and it would not hurt so much.
Silly me. They ached all the way from our backyard to the basement carpark at work. They even ached when I went out for lunch. They certainly ached on the way home. How nice to have the weekend to recover.
Speaking of which, time to go face down.