I was supposed to meet -Jim of Jim-Jim for a ride this morning at 8:00 AM at the bike shop. Yesterday I had met both Jims of Jim-Jim for a ride at 6:30 AM at the other Jim of Jim-Jim's house. Prior to that I had commuted by bike to the shop twice in a row. I can tell that I am over that pyschological block of getting back into shape I suffer with every Spring. The problem now is I am having trouble dragging my sorry ass body with me over this pyschological mole hill. So today, I called up -Jim of Jim-Jim and canceled. My body is insisting on 24 hour break to locate some energy for tomorrow's long ride with a bigger group.
Needs a break? What the Hell is up with that?
This aging thing is really starting to make an impression. Used to be I could blast out 10 hours of hard physical labor after a night of no sleep and intense libation. Or drive a load 1200 miles in 24 hours and still use a pallet jack to unload the 40 grand they just had to have yesterday. Now I feel lucky to wake up and have the energy to go to the dump with a bag of trash.
Maybe I used up all my "you can be stupid and not pay for it" credits. And maybe, my body has just decided my brain is full of shit and now refuses to get with the program. Regardless, I am sitting here instead of on my bike where my brain would like to see me. My body is happy as if it had a brain. Not just content that it has one-upped my brain, but actually giving itself high fives for finally over ruling what I assume it feels is an explotive and over demanding leader. The proletariat has risen and tossed the decadent and graft infested monarch out.
De-frocked and defamed, I slink into my office and type out my whining tale of woe. Does this post make me feel better? No. But it does prove that by the physical act of typing, my brain has not lost all of it's influence. There are still muscles and sinews in here who will answer the call.