The thing about training full-time is that, suddenly, you have tons of time on your hands.
After going to masters' practice this morning (felt good in the water for a change—must be the five days in a row thing...who knew that technical sports required practice?), I sauntered over to Wooglin's Deli, checked my email, ate a bagel sandwich, and eavesdropped on Alison Dunlap, who was having breakfast at the neighboring table. I thought about introducing myself ("Hey, Alison, it's Chris Bagg, the writer who wrote a profile about you for Cyclocross Magazine...yeah, it is weird that we've never met in person, isn't it?) but then figured she probably wanted at least some time in the day when people don't introduce themselves to her. Presently I'm sitting on the front porch, with my legs up, waiting for UPS to arrive (and, good God, I hope I get the above-pictured UPS truck) so I can get my bike and wheels back from their sojourn across the country. Then it's off for a four or five hour ride through the Eastern Coloradan Countryside (read: flat). But other than that, I don't have poop to do, and I find that fact wildly unsettling.
The life of a professional athlete is an odd one. When you're really focused (and I am, presently, after the dalliances of our two-week vacation (too many cookies!)), there isn't much to life except training, fueling, and sleeping. I know many age-groupers who espouse a desire for this monklike life, but I wonder how many people are actually suited for it. We all live busy, busy lives most of the time, and subtracting the ebb and flow of a regular workday can leave you feeling, well, antsy. Witness the productivity of this blog. When I don't have anything to do, I turn to this outlet. But I feel the post winding down. I hope UPS arrives soon.
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