My post on the 20th, gained me an email from a friend who wanted to make sure I was okay. Yes. I’m okay. I was actually in a good mood when I wrote that, but had just come out of a bad stretch.
Things were good last week and through Saturday. I was upbeat, productive at work, and had hope for the future. Then Sunday happened.
I’ll back up. Friday after work, I went to Apocalypse Brew Works for beer. It was packed inside, but they had a campfire in the parking lot, so I sat around with a group of strangers and got drunk. It was actually a good time. There’s something about sitting in a circle around a fire that gets you talking to people.
I left there after having one too many. I still hadn’t eaten dinner, so I stopped at Cumberland for a burger and one more beer. Cumberland didn’t have a fire or a circle, so I really didn’t talk to anyone. My ride home was a blur – an uneventful blur, but still… I got home and went to sleep.
I woke up Saturday morning feeling dehydrated and smelling of wood smoke. I felt much better after a shower and a pot of coffee. Saturday’s plans were grocery shopping and housecleaning. Oh, and I had a growler of beer I’d brought home from Apocalypse.
I drink too much beer. I realize that. It hurts my weight loss efforts. It hurts my mental state. I’ve cut down for a while, only to pick back up later. I was determined to not over-do it on Saturday, as I had big bike plans for Sunday.
I thoroughly cleaned the drivetrain on the rSogn for Sunday’s plans. Timothy was putting on an LBC Populaire.
I woke up early Sunday feeling good. I cooked a good breakfast and drank plenty of coffee.
The ride was planned at 68 miles. I wanted 100 miles for the day, so if I took the long way to the ride start location and back (in Prospect), I could do that.
I headed out in plenty of time. I was underdressed, but I knew it would warm up. Ten miles in, I wanted to turn around and go home, but I kept going. It was 18 miles until I arrived in Prospect for the 10:00 AM departure.
There were some interesting bikes there. One guy from Columbus Indiana was riding a recumbent. Sam, from Lexington Kentucky, was riding a Velo-Orange Polyvalent.
Being a timed event, I didn’t bother with pictures. We rolled back toward town. Many of the riders pulled ahead of my on River Rd. They were soon out of site. There were still a few behind me somewhere. After a bit, the recumbent rider passed me.
Two riders behind me caught up as we were approaching downtown. They slowed a bit to stay with me. We crossed the Second Street Bridge into Indiana, and the faster group had apparently made a wrong turn somewhere, and were coming back toward us. Now I was riding with a group again.
While riding next to the recumbent rider and talking to him, I didn’t spot a pothole in time, and hit it hard. There was no damage to my bike, but I had to stop to retrieve my pump which had fallen off. Nobody waited for me. I was pretty much cooked already at this point. I had pushed a pretty good pace (for me). I was unable to catch them.
I continued on to the first control, Quill’s Coffee in New Albany. Most of them were still there, including Timothy. My mind was made up. I let him know I wasn’t continuing with the ride. I was only 18 miles into the Populaire, 36 miles into my day. They left while I had a cup of coffee.
I wasn’t ready to ride another 12 miles to get home. I was that tired. I was about a block away from New Albanian Brewing, so I rode there for a beer and food, then began a slow amble home. It took me nearly an hour to go those 12 miles home.
I cooked a nice dinner at home. I spent some time stretching my leg muscles, which had begun to cramp up. I was exhausted – much more exhausted I should have been for the riding I did. I felt kind of “cooked” mentally too. I went to bed at a reasonable time with the intention of riding the recumbent to work and taking the long way in the morning.
This morning, I hated the world. I hated the alarm clock, the bikes, myself, and the fact I don’t own a car. My legs and neck were still in pain, but the mental pain was bigger. I couldn’t call off work. I wasn’t going to spend the money on a cab. I took the bus to work. Riding the bus made me feel slightly sick, which it normally doesn’t.
Getting to work didn’t improve matters. I was grumpy. My co-workers were annoying. I wasn’t very pleasant to be around.
I left work at 5:00 on the dot. I didn’t want to miss my bus. My mood had improved a bit, but I still felt a bit ill on the bus.
I cooked another nice dinner and prepared leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch. I did the dishes. I played on the computer. I feel better, but not quite right.
Maybe cutting out beer for a week (or three) will change things a bit. Maybe just getting back in the habit of being at home, cooking, paying attention to my dogs, and playing on the computer will help.
We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
3 thoughts on “Things Were Good…”
And in the background I hear a little red head singing…” the sun’ll come out, tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun….” 😉
I follow your blog because it seems I often suffer from similar mental struggles as you do. I abstain from alcohol for a while only to return.
My biggest success was about 4 years ago when I got really motivated to lose weight. I have a 17 mile ride I was able to do every morning at 5:00 AM before I got ready for work.
I had a goal of riding to my parents house, which at the time 60 miles was a really long and intimidating ride for me. The motivation to achieve that goal was greater than my desire to drink beer. I wanted to get up every Saturday and ride a 30 mile ride. I wanted to get up every other morning and my 17 mile ride. I couldn’t do either of those things after I drank.
So I guess why I’m saying this is that maybe it would help if you had a goal. A difficult goal. This summer I have some really big goals, so that will help keep me on track again. Find your goal.. something you never thought possible, and see if working towards that helps.
It is pothole season in these parts too and they always have the potential to ruin EVERYTHING.
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