I’m done. Yes. Fucking done for the year. Is this bad? Is this good? Is this in between? Left side? Right ride? (Sorry for the bad paraphrase of Mr. Miagi). I guess I just don’t know, but, sorry for the explicit aspects of these late model posts (Joe Rogan influence maybe), I’ve had it. I’ve had it. I’ve had it. So there training, podcasts (I may still listen) and training log. I’m abandoning you for at least the rest of the year. Good riddance. I love you. Good riddance. I love you. Schizophrenia aside, I’m just really, really (lack of a better term) fucking tired. Mind. Body. Spirit. They all need some recovery and a nice dip into the darkness of weight gain and flaccidity. Bring on the beer and hedonism. I welcome your escape. Do I know what will happen? Yes. But do I care? Yes. Will I change my mind? Hell no! Vacation from the laps. Vacation from the miles. Vacation from the ever-present reminders. Vacation from you. Yes. From you who is myself and not myself. Pull up a chair at a bar and sit next to myself. Look over. Cheers. I’ll find you again real soon. But, for now, fuck off. I’m tired.
That does not mean I’m stopping and though my tone may sound indignant, I’m not mad. I’m actually happily venting (it’s been a long year). Heck, I just had a great ride yesterday. I may surf tomorrow. For how long? How many miles? At what pace? That’s exactly it. I don’t care right now.
So… Numbers, distance, and time. Hold up your glass. Cheers and fuck off…