Another week of riding starts tomorrow morning at around 0700. Rather than farting around half asleep in the dark, I have spent part of this afternoon getting my stuff squared away. Two weeks worth of shirts have been ironed. All cycling kit is cleaned and dried and stashed where it needs to be. The bike has been given a quick once over. I've even moved one of our outdoor tables into a position where it will be of assistance in the morning when I am getting the bike ready - all these little things count.
I've also put a reminder in the diary to pack a fresh towel tomorrow. The one at work has been there for a few weeks - it's getting pretty manky, and I keep forgetting to replace it with a clean one. I've made the mistake before of bringing the manky one home to wash, and then forgetting to take it to work the following day. You then have the option of using someone else's towel, or drying yourself with your bike jersey. I won't say which option I have selected. These days, I leave the towel there until I take in a fresh replacement. Better a stinky towel than none at all.
The only thing I can't prep is my legs. Junior and me had a hit of tennis yesterday. Although he is three decades younger than me, I am quicker off the mark when chasing down the ball. He is lanky and young and fit, but lacks the fire in the belly to attack each shot, no matter how seemingly hopeless and far away that ball is. I chased down quite a few shots, and my legs are suffering dearly from those short bursts of accelaration. I am used to doing 90 minutes of relatively constant speed rotation each day. Sprints are something that I have not done in years.
The consequence is that my quads are utterly rooted. I can't even squat down to get a beer out of the bottom of the fridge.