You Came To Me Like A Cancer.

About a week before I get sick and fall in a heap I start to have a lot of bad thoughts about cycling. Really, I should've picked up the pattern before now - or at least Casey should've. The first time I find myself longing for some time away from the bike, or saying that I'm only going to race road or track next year (inversely dependent on the season), or even entertaining the thought of quitting altogether, she should immediately confine me to bed and start intravenously dosing me with Floradix and Vitamin C. She never does, though - mostly because instead of actually saying these things, I tend to keep them in my head, pushing them down until *insert important event that I've been overtraining for* is done and I end up on the couch watching Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.






Thanks to my sister for the sweet Christmas present - I still can't believe she couldn't find a DVD copy of Excellent Adventure.