"No pain, no gain," says Yago, and by the time I'm finished screwing around with trying to get the Polar on the bike, it's damn near nine and I DO intend on trying to get the training in. But I don't. The trainer is misbehaving and keeps snapping out. The phone rings. I can't focus. I'm days away from the ever-feared arrival of Aunt Flo, and I am in SUCH a mood that, after a while, I give up.
I hate this. I hate not being able to focus and shut my brain off but it's still so damn loaded with irrelevant, non-cycling stuff that I don't half wonder if I'm going to do more harm than good. Which I don't. My f***-it gene is too strong to go so hard I actually hurt myself.
It's ten p.m. I'm sick of messing around with stuff. I still haven't eaten dinner. I'm going to bed, a bad cyclist who can't focus.
But at least I'm honest about it!!!!! :O)
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