Every athlete has been there….
It’s the weekend and you’ve decided you’re going to be a rock star by doing some group event that you know will deplete every ounce of soul you have left, give yourself some time to recover, then go out for the evening. Your morning event goes as planned (and in this particular case) you can barely stand or stand the amount of salt that has stuck to your clothes. There is a celebrating at the end of said event in which you and your buddies recall the ups and downs of the morning group ride. By the time you make it home, you’re grabbing every piece of support in an attempt to turn your staggered crawl into a somewhat normal looking walk.
You have made it to the shower and find some sadistic pleasure in turning the floor into a dark gray tint. If you have ever had any problems falling asleep (as I do with my inconsistent sleep patterns) they have all decided not to present themselves and you are left alone in bed with your battered and exhausted body.
When it’s time to wake up you could have swore you had a meal after your ride. But still, the bottomless pit that is your stomach bellows. It is then you realize that your walk is as though someone has removed pieces of your legs and has left you with the ones necessary for a convincing zombie stagger (so appropriate for the holiday season.)
Somehow you have made your way to your weekend party without getting hit by a car for walking across the street too slow and are as ready as possible in your damaged state. As much as you would like to enjoy the night’s festivities, they can only be met with about 60% effort and is diminishing at an alarmingly quick rate. Every locating meant for (and sometimes not conventionally meant for) sitting has been spotted and you scowl and glare at the butts that are in them. Inside you’re telling yourself, “why are they sitting down right now? Don’t they know I’ve been on my bike for the past five-and-a-half hours and can barely stand? How am I supposed to have the energy to dance with everyone taking up all the damn chairs!!” Aslas, you digress. Making the best effort possible, you manage to power through a night that was originally meant for relaxing and letting loose, into a marathon to hang out for a time that isn’t rudely early, but not until closing time to leave.
If riding back to your car felt like a journey in it of itself in the morning, then the ride back from the party trumps that time generously. Congratulations, you’ve exhausted all the reserves you had and then some. Your night is over and you don’t want to consider what others still at the party, or what’s going on afterwards. Being reduced to a crawl you make it back to bed. By this time your legs are so sore that you won’t be able to enjoy the sleep you thought you were going to get and try and get in your most comfortable position, isolating the parts of your body that are livid that you would make such a silly choice.
Despite all that has happened, all of the actions that took place are somehow justified in your head. And although you barely survived the day, any other circumstance wouldn’t be as memorable. In some weird way your evening plans may not be as special if you hadn’t pre-gamed by wanting to blow your brains out with physical activity that caused more nutritional loss than a stomach bug and the flu put together.
That being said, my bike is still in mar car from this morning and it’s about that time for me to get ready to go out and not pass out from fatigue. Wish me luck.