Resistance is Duvet
I should really file this under "why do I do these things to myself" except in this instance, I know why. I'm pig headed.
I suffer from "Fat Boy Slim". No, I'm not being stalked by Norman Cook, it's a nick name for the conditional training at work. Well, I would like to say that it's a work thing... but it isn't really. Too many companies are involved.
It's better if I pull you back to September 2004. I did the "Tour de Munster". This is a four day 400 mile charity road cycle (actually 600Km, but 100 miles a day rolls off the tounge). Once the tour is over... the bikes go somewhere to get rusty.
There are the odd "muck-biking" sessions. These are propper mountain bike sessions somewhere in Limerick involving proper mountain bikes (I've only got the road bike a.k.a. a racer) and proper mountains. As as one of the people on it discovered... real muck (his cycling kit still bears traces months later). But that's about it.
So the cyclists get as round as their tires. (There are exceptions, but I'll save that for later). So "Fat boy slim" begins. This is conditional training to get us fit enought to survive the first few sessions because...
1) There is no such thing as a flat cycle in Cork and
2) the first few sessions are 20 to 30 miles. Mostly uphill.
3) since it's a work thing, training begins after work, so you can't road cycle the country roads of country Cork at 6pm or later in complete darkness unless you are a crased cyclepath. (he typed in earshot of one)
Needless to say the condition of my condition is not in the best of condition. And after conditional training, I'm in not condition to do much.
For a while.
Around 2am I'll still be staring at the ceiling because while my body is in bits and achine, for some unknown reason my brain is firing at random on all cylinders keeping me awake. This happens after every training session I've ever done.
So come morning, the alarm clock goes off, and I begin my resistance training. Somehow my duvet has gained the weight of a full grown elephant and I can't get up. I try and try but it's dammed difficult to move.
I'm in more pain from that duvet than I am from the training...
take care,
Will
I suffer from "Fat Boy Slim". No, I'm not being stalked by Norman Cook, it's a nick name for the conditional training at work. Well, I would like to say that it's a work thing... but it isn't really. Too many companies are involved.
It's better if I pull you back to September 2004. I did the "Tour de Munster". This is a four day 400 mile charity road cycle (actually 600Km, but 100 miles a day rolls off the tounge). Once the tour is over... the bikes go somewhere to get rusty.
There are the odd "muck-biking" sessions. These are propper mountain bike sessions somewhere in Limerick involving proper mountain bikes (I've only got the road bike a.k.a. a racer) and proper mountains. As as one of the people on it discovered... real muck (his cycling kit still bears traces months later). But that's about it.
So the cyclists get as round as their tires. (There are exceptions, but I'll save that for later). So "Fat boy slim" begins. This is conditional training to get us fit enought to survive the first few sessions because...
1) There is no such thing as a flat cycle in Cork and
2) the first few sessions are 20 to 30 miles. Mostly uphill.
3) since it's a work thing, training begins after work, so you can't road cycle the country roads of country Cork at 6pm or later in complete darkness unless you are a crased cyclepath. (he typed in earshot of one)
Needless to say the condition of my condition is not in the best of condition. And after conditional training, I'm in not condition to do much.
For a while.
Around 2am I'll still be staring at the ceiling because while my body is in bits and achine, for some unknown reason my brain is firing at random on all cylinders keeping me awake. This happens after every training session I've ever done.
So come morning, the alarm clock goes off, and I begin my resistance training. Somehow my duvet has gained the weight of a full grown elephant and I can't get up. I try and try but it's dammed difficult to move.
I'm in more pain from that duvet than I am from the training...
take care,
Will
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