With my wife and kids gone for the whole week, I decided that it would be a reasonable objective to try to ride to and from work every day - ten commute legs. I set this goal in my head about a month ago, immediately upon my wife informing me of her pending trip to Bako to visit her parents. My previous record for weekly riding was seven total legs (five in and two home). I could have gone for eight legs but it felt like a cop out. If I ever was going to have the opportunity to do all ten legs, this would be the week.
And, sadly, I did not keep this goal in mind with the thought of having two glorious weekend days to myself, to do anything that I so chose. In advertising my bachelorhood to every person that I knew (in search of debauchery and other benefits of being temporarily wifeless and childless), I was blessed to spend Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights with friends, and Friday, Saturday and Sunday mornings on my bike. A panoply beers, sangria, hamburgers, hot dogs and nachos combined with 150 miles and 11,000 feet of climbing on the bike made for a rough day of work today, Monday. I felt a little slow this morning on the ride in, but nothing to complain about. But by 3pm today, I was having a hard time lifting my legs to rest them on my desk.
Upon getting dressed to ride home, I already had significant doubts about making my goal of ten commute legs. I walked out of my building and headed to the garage to get my bike. I hopped onto my bike and pedaled up Sansome Street. By the time I got to the Embarcadero, my temperature gauge read 92.4 degrees and the wind was blowing me backwards. This only further fortified my sentiment of not spending another hour and a half in doubting my judgement. Rather than fight the urge, I happily gave in and took the tailwind down the Embarcadero to the Ferry Building where the beautiful 4.25pm boat was waiting for me to be the last one to board. Not for one second of the 35 minute ferry home did I regret my choice to bail on ‘ten legs’. I am hopeful that this lack of a commute will empower me to make nine or eight or even seven commutes.
In recognition of my failure, I am heading out to Marinitas to fuel up for tomorrow’s ride in. But I take this collapse very seriously. I will drown myself in, maybe, a pitcher of margaritas, a bowl of chorizo and queso and a bucket of chips and tomatillo salsa. Woe is me.