Ridiculous

Well, the old days of racing into shape are long gone.

The Land Park Crit was a bust. Tailgunning for five laps and then dropping out can't even be considered racing, can it. I had to soft-pedal on the lawn for ten minutes to regain my eyesight and Henry, my soigneur, held my hand the whole time to make sure I didn't fall over.

I took the DNF as a signal to build base and re-try racing in May. Weeks later, my teammate Chris took me on a soul ride in the Napa valley. Did some climbing and felt strong, but did it in apparently too big of a gear and aggravated an old knee injury.

Backtracking ensued, lots of stretching, easy spinning. Oh, and beer to lubricate the joint.

Then moving stuff in the garage last week I tweaked my lower back as a result of a bad lift. Probably a result of the dodgy knee messing with my form. Yep, now I'm pretty much hobbled.

Then, this morning, I got some keratoses frozen off my face at Kaiser. Lovely. I feel like a troll, replete with warty complexion and stooped posture.

Dang. I didn't figure I would become decrepit so quickly . . . this aging stuff is no joke.