Slept in and woke up traumatically, as if something was wrong. It was not unlike the adrenaline dump you can get in a dream, only I don’t know that I’d been dreaming. Also, I felt, for a few moments, as those something might physically be wrong. Counted all my fingers and toes. Everything on my face was in place. Caught my breath, let me fingers wake up (I’d been sleeping on them and they’d gone tingly) and, soon enough, everything was fine. But that was some kinda weird.
And then I got to it. I worked through the morning’s emails. I sent a message to my online class. It was a carefully crafted document that reminded them of upcoming due dates, mentioned the local football team, highlighted various events going on campus ranging from soccer to an art exhibit to career fairs, and so on.
I finished my notes, and slides, for tomorrow’s class. I prepared a bit of Wednesday’s class and Thursday’s, too.
I washed three rugs, and a load of towels and sheets, besides. I read the news. Put the kitty beds back out. I call them caves, but there’s another product with that name. Really, these are the most luxuriously lined sleeping bags that are cat sized. They almost never climb in them. They do sleep on them. And they needed washing, which happened yesterday. So thick is the microfiber and faux fur it took a full day for them to almost dry inside and out. But, today, one went back in the box in the window, and the other went back on the ottoman.
I submitted an extended abstract for a conference. I’m going to examine, and hope to present my observations on the agenda setting taking place in the new Saturday Night Live UK. I just discovered this show yesterday. Had an idea 20 minutes later, then wrote 1,100 words on it last night, before and after the football game. Made some edits today, and off it went. That’ll give me something to watch when it gets too cold to go outside, and something to talk about for 15 minutes next spring.
Caught up on the news, ate some leftovers, replied to a lot more email, the usual. It was a productive day, and I did it all this afternoon. Who needs mornings, anyway?
I had a nice bike ride on Saturday. My lovely bride and I went out together, but she wisely pulled the rip cord when it didn’t feel right. She’d already had one big workout that day and I slowed her down and made her wait too long for another. So I just pedaled myself around for 30 miles.
I like going this way because we’re actually below sea level here … that’s two places in this general area where I know that to be true. The other is 7-feet below, this one is about 5-feet below sea level. Also, the water is here. And I mean, here. The tide had come in, and I hadn’t given that any thought when I set about on that particular route.
Today, just after 5 p.m. when I’d done all that I could do, at least until later tonight, I had another ride. This one was one of the better rides I’ve had in a long time. I don’t know if I’ve ever understood the conditions that allow for me to have this sort of ride, but I’d like for it to happen again.
It was in the 70s, for most of the chosen route and the time of day the traffic was minimal. Everyone was where they needed to be. The bike was doing everything I wanted it to and my legs weren’t bothered by the effort at all. Some days, I think, I am limited by different things. Could be my legs today, my lungs tomorrow, the bike or the terrain or the time available on other days. But, today, it just all worked out.
I did my 25-mile time trial route, my 14th if my notes are correct. This was my fifth fastest time, and my second fastest of the year. And it could have been faster, but there was a stretch on the back half of that course where I realized that today was a day I could ride tempo, but I had no need to do so.
Even the cars that passed by behaved today. And I timed this to almost perfect. This is the last light, just before I turned for home.
This is one thing the Velominati got right.
La Volupte translates roughly to “voluptuousness,” and while the first thing the mind goes to is a sexual definition, my favorite is, “the property of being lush and abundant and a pleasure to the senses.” In a sport where pain is worn like a badge of honor, those times when cycling is lush and abundant and a pleasure to the senses are what makes us want to climb onto our bikes again tomorrow. When Bobet returned home from his ride on the Azur, his brother asked him how it went. His answer was simply, “I was flying today.”
I feel like I’ve had one small experience with la volupte. One. In 28,000 miles. And that was years ago. It’s not something you dream of or look back on too much, but it’s nice.
I’ll look back, though, on today’s ride, when I could elevate my pace and do it again, and then again, and wonder why I didn’t feel that at all, when I could get over the little hills and get back to it without missing more than an extra breath, when the water tasted cool even at the end of the ride. When I noticed that my ill-fighting bike wasn’t making anything hurt. When I noticed that my shoulder hurt, just like it did constantly between 2012 and 2014, and I spent some miles hoping that wasn’t the secret to this. When I thought I’d do a little sprint near the end, but my glute was protesting, so I decided not to, but almost did it anyway. When all of the colors looked like an oversaturated indy house art film. When I developed no recollection, whatsoever, of the sound of the wind. And when I set no segment PRs, no bests of any sort, but I still felt fast, capable, and ready to ride again.
I’ve not had any of that on the bike in a while, not really. I’d like to.
OK, this is the first night of real grading this semester. I have 108 things to look over. Let’s see how many of them I can get to this evening, before I wander out into the dark, looking for a change of pace. There could be clouds out there to see, after all.
That, I’m telling myself, is how a productive Tuesday will begin.
