On ten of the past fourteen days, I've saddled up for a ride of at least forty miles. The first one felt terrible. The second one, much the same. By the third ride, I started to find my legs again. The fourth was a Style I ego-check that left me reeling. But with every subsequent ride, I feel a bit better on the bike and that's a good thing. But the most important thing to come out of this return to riding?
The Itch. It's back.
Remember, like, last post, when I complained about not having the motivation to get myself back into shape? Well, that didn't last long. Two weeks have passed, and at some point during those two weeks, the Itch came back. Ten days ago, someone would pass me in the hall and ask if I'd thought about doing another Ironman. My eyes would glaze over and I'd mumble some kind of half-hearted affirmation. I was definitely enjoying the laziness. Now, the pilot light's been re-lit and I'm ready to start burning.
I'm not sure if the Itch is a good thing or a bad thing, an angel on my shoulder or an imp, but I do know this: every athlete has one. Some people are good at controlling theirs. Others, like myself... not so much. I'm like Dexter, only instead of a Dark Passenger, I've got a Harsh Mistress (rhymes with 'fitness'). And instead of telling me to kill people, the voice in my head tells me go to bed before 9 PM, wake up before 6 AM, and ensures that I spend any and all available free time running, swimming or cycling - or thinking about running, swimming and cycling.
Time to cobble together a plan. I'm feeling motivated.