Hold

I feel a little plush right now, the legs are a pleasant constant ache. Soft tissue beaten up like an old couch cushion. That meat tenderized feeling after weeks and days of closely monitored flogging. The season is knocking, the bikes are just about dialed and the crisp air appears and goes at a moment's notice. My vision is narrowing, every move seems more calculated, the current guilt level is pretty pronounced as the Breck Epic goes on without my lazy ass on the startline. Instead I see things not in days but in a 45-60 minute blocks of special, blood in the back of the throat, cross eyed goodness. Purging 8 months of decadence in favor of 4 months in my own choosing, my Penal Colony.