What 700 miles in the basement is *really* good for

LEST y'all think I'm poopoohing the benefits of my trainer sessions in the basement, I'm going to share a little nugget with you.

Yesterday I walked up the stairs. Normally. As in not hunched over, stiff legged and awkward. Just a normal, lahdeedah pace up stairs. Lots of stairs. All day long.

Normally, two days after a hill-filled race I would be all bent over and old lookin'. But not now.

Why?

Because I worked my a** off in the basement this year. And while I didn't smack the hills around on Sunday as secretly hoped, I certainly didn't need a week to recover from them either.

How about one day to recover.

And THAT, my friends, is a good thing.

So don't start worrying that this complicated relationship you've developed with your trainer in the belly of your home is for naught.

It's all good.

***

In only marginally related news, I was out looking for a "flat" course last night to do a recovery ride on. And since I can no longer claim frostbite risks for outdoors riding, I was on the road. And within a half and hour, I got an industrial sized staple directly in my back tire.

And what did I do?

I promptly called Mighty M.

I know, I know. I could have changed it, but it already needs to go into the shop because the tire isn't sitting properly in the wheel, so it goes thunkthunkthunkthunk the whole time I ride. Like a flat tire when I don't have one.

Until, of course, I did.

Rather than get greased up and dirty changing a tire that was going into the shop the next day, I decided for the rescue call instead.

Oh, and since you asked, lazy is spelled a-b-l-e.