It begins

It has been 2011 for three days now, and I've been training for two of them. Nothing major; two windtrainer sessions where I turned up some good music and rolled the legs over, pushing the pace towards the end just to see what was remained in the legs and not finding much. This comes as no surprise, as I haven't been on my bike since October, or done anything since October. I took a much needed break: drank beer, read books, watched movies, and drank more beer. But it is no longer October. It is January, and has been for three days. And I am back on the bike, appreciating songs with steady drums.

Today was a fifty-minute windtrainer session, no heart-rate zones or intervals, just turning the pedals and sweating. I thought about lots of things, as you do when you aren't going anywhere. I missed my family, who are still by the beach and laughing at the little one who tells everyone to sit. I envisioned Wisconsin, what my legs would look like after nine months of good riding. I thought about my purpose, because I had read Jack Canfield in the morning. I thought how nice the bike sounded after our hibernation. I laughed at the end, when I gritted my teeth and had nothing. And the ride was over.

There is a long road between here and Ironman Wisconsin. A very long one. I know it. And if I train the way I want, it won't always be a pleasant route. It will push me to places I would rather not go, force me to ask questions and then live with the answers. It will take me up hills that destroy my legs and beneath water at 5 am when I'd rather be sleeping. I know it won't always be this much fun. But today, as I listened to a phenomenal song with a glorious drumbeat and powerful guitars and felt my legs scream like the lead singer's voice, it was.