Dog days

It’s August, and it’s hot. Dog days, indeed. My poor, over-worked portable Danby A/C tries valiantly at night to cut the humidity so I can sleep; during any other time of the day, it is futile to even attempt cooling. Environmentally friendly, yes…. miserable, yes again. So far I have had the most luck sleeping with ice packs, in a wet T-shirt, with 2 fans blowing right over me. I also sleep on a futon, which helps in proximity to the floor. When I get really frustrated, it’s time for frozen yogurt and beer. I mean, sleeping is over-rated and I really don’t spend much time at home, but… I suppose I’m getting soft in my old age.

Especially now that I’m trying to rest my exhausted legs before Saturday’s race… ugh. I can barely climb stairs at this point and have two strained hip flexor muscles, plus a nasty foot cramp in the right forefoot. Yesterday was interesting: my swim coach said my form was downright “awful” while I almost drowned in exhaustion, and my planned 60k ride with a few tempo efforts turned into a survival spin on the pathway, where I was easily passed by commuters. I also got caught downwind of some spit, spurting from the craw a crotchety old fellow on a flat-tired mountain bike. I flicked it off my knee and made some awful faces while gesticulating wildly and shaking my head; the Cyclelogik guy coming the other way must’ve thought I was a “crazy”.

All this is ample warning indeed for a sub-par duathlon performance… don’t expect any great things from me this time. Feeling quite subdued after a recent discovery; lessons learned.

Nothing like the blunt truth to cheer you up.