Un-Foiled, Scientists & Thrice Fried Frites

It seems The Bike God's were appeased by my offers of fresh leg shavings and race entry fees to intervene jusssst enough to allow me to get in a kick ass hour on the trainer! Thank you!! Mr. Mortgage Man had to reschedule for later in the evening, so when I came home there was a note taped to the door from Wifey informing me that I would have the time to ride, so get crackin'!!

I wasted no time in getting out of my civilian clothes and into a chamois for fast hour of aerobic tempo on the trainer. Just wanted to get the legs moving, blow some stink out of them and try to sweat out the 100,000 mg of sodium that I probably took in on this weekend's nacho bender. These workouts are sort of cathartic. High cadence, but not high intensity. Time to think, listen to music (We Are Scientists thank you very much) and sweat.
It makes me feel like I'm just sitting in on a group ride, making all the "real" roadies do the work while I spin along not wanting any part of their skinny tired pissing contests. OR better I'm cruising along like Boonen in the lead group of Paris-Roubaix. Legs pumping, camera men chasing, and 16 year old Belgian girls worked up hotter than thrice fried Frites! The only really difference being that HE'S busting his adrenalin and coke fueled ass for 5+ hours at race intensity over shit roads and cobbles, and I am spinning along singing and sweating all over myself for an hour and calling it a ride/workout. Still fun though in it's own way.

I guess I could have just said- "I had a chance to spin tonight. It was fun". Nahh, what's the fun in that.

Later.