Last night was brutal: today I am exhausted. This tiredness has a familiar feeling, physically and mentally. I am a new parent again, but with my son sleeping soundly in the next room.
No matter how hard I try, the clock won’t stop ticking, and sleep won’t come. In my exhaustaion, I find another example of life revolving around cycling. The wearniess threatens to overwhelm me, and sleep still won’t come. Thoughts return to the impact on my training.
… sleep is the time when the body recharges, adapts, and grows stronger… without sleep, the body does not recover… without recovery, training is less effictive, with more risk of injury…. sleep is the time… sleep… sleep…
I worry that all my training will be for nothing, that an injury or crash will undo all my work. But my worst fear is that it doesn’t matter: that no matter how hard I try, I’m stuck in a rut of mediocaty that no amount of effort will overcome, destined to be dropped from the main group, overtaken on the hills and in the sprints, forever finishing in the middle of bunch as an also-ran. These are the worries that forestall my sleep; these are the worries that will turn full circle; these are the worries that risk becoming self fulfilling.
The clock continues to tick, and daylight approaches.