This weather is kicking my ass. I tried to say it was kicking my "I wanna get faster" ass, but Big Jim Slade straight up called me out, and said he's pretty sure it's not the rain, kicking THAT ass.
That's why I don't really like Jim. I tolerate him, like you would tolerate a conjoined sibling growing outta your ass.
Anyway, I'll be sausage fest riding on Sunday. But, my legs have not had oppurtunity to turn a pedal more than once this week, as apparently, I have a whopping case of Norman's-Scared-of-the-Rain-itis. I hate Norman's-Scared-of-the-Rain-itis, so I'll be seeking a cure tomorrow.
The doc says the best cure for this chronic 3rd placement, overbraking, slow turning, incessant whimpering malaise, is quite simple. Wait 'til it's raining. Walk out to your bike. Climb aboard, and pedal off into the muck with your friends. Channel you inner little kid; the same one that still lets you make motorcycle noises when you hit that corner just right, or blast monstrous millimeters of air off that water bar. Remember the unadulterated joy it was to take a HUGE FLYYYYYIIIIINNNNNG leap, into the nearest mud puddle. Then smile from mud filled ear, to mud filled ear, when you realize that you just wall of watered your closest buddy.
Mostly, just let go. It's why we do this anyway, right? We just wanna let go of all the day to day garbage that will suck your soul if you let it. Tomorrow, I'm gonna go play in the mud, and then I'm gonna wash it all off.
Just what the doctor ordered!