The Dirt Field

7:00am: My iPhone alarm goes off, bringing to a screeching halt a disturbing dream in which I try to ride my bike through neck-deep mud. Excessive post-ride hydration from previous night means I have to pee, pangs of hunger are starting, and yet…snooze button.

7:09am: Why nine minutes, Apple? Why not an even number?? I am awake. Time to roll out of bed and hit the floor, literally, for the thrice-weekly core work routine of push-ups, back extensions, and some Pilates.

7:38am: Words With Friends, Facebook, Twitter…an exercise routine that would take 15 minutes of uninterrupted effort stretches out impressively with the distractions of an iPhone and a healthy dose of avoidance.

7:54am: I have packed the refrigerator into a plastic bag under the guise of ‘lunch’ and am sitting down to eat the same breakfast I have eaten every day for years. Two eggs, whole wheat toast, homemade latte, Greek yogurt with one Splenda, berries, water. Do you have an opinion about this dietary choice? That’s nice. Death and taxes will budge before my breakfast.

8:36am: Was determined to be early to work today. Am now running late. There is always time to read one more restaurant review on NYMag.com, because my day cannot start until I have read about food I will not eat at a restaurant I will not visit in a city I have only seen once.

9:00am: Originally, I had intended to do this work teleconference from my office. That was downgraded to a plan to do it in the car en route to work, then to intending to at least be ready to walk out the door after the call, to finally dialing in while still wearing slippers. Dog #1 looks judgmental. Dog #2 looks blind.

9:24am: The call is over. Time to get ready really fast and be at the office by 10am.

10:41am: Arrive at the office.

12:16pm: I am leading a proposal review today. The catered lunch arrives and people dig in. I survey the options: sandwiches slathered with mayo and blanketed with cheese, potato chips, salads with cheese and heavy dressing. There is nothing for a wannabe pro cyclist here. Settle for heating pasta and lean meat packed from home, answer the usual questions from colleagues about my athlete-friendly diet, feel smug as they all inhale fatty junk.

12:32pm: The temptation is too great. I take a cookie from the catering tray. It is delicious. My sense of superiority withers.

12:34pm: Google “[catering company] nutrition facts” and read the bad news on the cookie. Details are immediately etched into brain: 17 GRAMS OF FAT, 420 CALORIES. I will spend the afternoon fretting over this and possibly add an extra interval to my workout tonight.

2:51pm: The workday crawls by. I have finished reading the Internet. The cookie is nearly forgotten and I am starving again. It is time for Thirdlunch. I am also considering another cookie.

4:30pm: People are relaxed and happy. The day is nearing an end! The evening stretches out like a vast tundra of opportunity and excitement! Unless you are me. Then the evening looks like intervals of sprinting back on forth on the W&OD.

[X:XXpm]: Let’s not talk about what time I leave work. Let’s go with [time of arrival] + 8 hours.

5:48pm: I am determined to get the ride done early to have free time before bed. Aiming to be on the bike by 6pm.

6:00pm: Definitely not on the bike, unless “bike” is code for “couch with plate of leftover Thai while flipping through iTunes for new music and talking to the dog about his penchant for eating used tissues.”

6:55pm: On the bike. Quick calculation of training plan instructions indicates this ride should take precisely one hour and thirty-seven minutes.

9:08pm: Roll back up to the house post-ride. That calculation failed to take into account the amount of time required to get to the location for intervals, time spent at street crossings, time spent redoing intervals that were less than perfect, time spent adjusting equipment/picking bugs out of eyes/stopping to refill bottles/complaining.

9:09pm: Now begins The Window, in which I have thirty minutes to provide my body with a recovery drink, a full meal, a thorough stretch, and an escape from the sweaty chamois. Short of stripping naked over the kitchen sink while throwing chicken, bananas, quinoa, and Recoverite in the blender while wrapping my leg around my head, I will not complete everything within The Window and will worry that the intervals no longer count.

10:26pm: I have finished everything that needed to be done by 9:39pm.

10:30pm: Bedtime. I am nowhere near bed.

11:06pm: I am stressing about the impacts of not getting enough sleep while catching up on four games of Words With Friends. Did you know naled is a word? Twenty-six points later, my opponent and I do.

11:12pm: Phone is put away, room is dark, Dog #1 is rearranging the covers to suit his needs, I am waiting for sleep to come.

11:38pm: Why am I still awake? I am anxious about not falling asleep. I do not fall asleep because I am anxious. Doesn’t my body understand the importance of sleep for recovery?!? I try to berate myself to sleep.

11:??pm: It works. I start to dream about riding my bike through neck-deep mud.