Sunday morning

Typically on a Sunday morning, especially one so beautiful in the fall as this, I'm out on the bike.  In the past five years since I got back on the saddle it's become a ritual touchstone of the weekly cycle.  Lately, during 'cross season, I'm headed to a race (about 5-6 times a season).  The usual comment at the end of the ride to the disparate group of friends is "Have a great week", knowing that we'll see each other on the next Sunday ride.  It's a comforting routine, and helps reset my attitude for the coming week.

So when I'm sitting on the computer writing about riding while I should be coming out of Rock Creek Park with 100 others, it feels a bit strange.  I was planning on a shorter ride today, since Hank and my brother in law Bob are coming today to help me remove a masonry pier and reset a beam to keep this kitchen renovation ticking along.  On a free day we can get a lot done.

Instead when I woke up I felt like I had been run over by a truck.  Two of four humans in the house are fighting serious head/chest colds, and I'm not one of them, thankfully, yet.  After a long road ride yesterday, soccer, and tearing out the subfloor to prep for the hardwood (in addition to some more wall demo), this morning my body said uncle while my mind planned on joining some neighbors for a spin into the park and a rendezvous with the Sunday group until about 10, when the calvary was to arrive to conquer this pier.

So here I sit, with intentions of a younger, more energetic man belied by the creaking, aching body of reality.  Can't do it all.  Oh well.