I might actually get back in shape by the end of July. Years ago, I bought a Cycle-Ops wind trainer, an evil invention that allows you to use your regular street bike as a cycling treadmill. Now, treadmills were initially used in British prisons as a form of torture; there is nothing more mind-numbing than pedaling (or walking) and not going anywhere, just staring at a blank wall. Mopping the sweat off the floor afterward ain’t too much fun either.
But now, with the Tour de France being shown at night on Canal Évasion, I can set the bike up in front of tele and pedal away. And quickly realise just how strong those guys are. Whenever I try to picture myself in it, I quickly empathise with the participants sucking wind at the back of the peloton. None of that breakaway stuff for me; more like I’m hanging on the team director’s car, getting “instructions.”
Oh, and after watching the coverage, I’m dying for wine and cheese, which pretty much eliminates any good work I’ve done.