As every decent sprinter knows, it's the hesitation that kills you. Give up that perfectly timed jump -for whatever heat-of-the-moment-in-combat reason - and you're done.
And so here I sit in early December worrying. Though the wrists are far down the path of healed I am nowhere near able to properly train on the bike. It kind of hurts and makes my wrists stiff and sore just easy plodding along and the Doctor forbade me to pull on the handlebars so that rules out real climbing and sprint training (not that it feels like I could be doing that anyway).
On top of that I've gotten used to the rhythms of life without wedging in training rides for almost four months now and just finding the mindset to make-time-to-ride is kind of off the RADAR right now.
But I know you're out there training. I know you're getting a jump on me. I know you're going to be making me pay next season. I know that I'll be looking at your asses from 20 meters back and know there's nothing I can do, beg, borrow, steal or extort to close that gap. I know you're riding 150 mile weeks despite its being only December.
I liked it better in the old days when it was me making guys think like that.
So that's how the competitive asshole bikeracer in me feels. The rest of me just wants to enjoy a nice mountain bike ride or a nice day full of long climbs and extended views. Hell, I'd even be glad to spend a day with the chainsaw and splitter making firewood.
But I must be patient. I found a Tolstoy quote, "The two most powerful warriors are patience and time." And every successful sprinter knows the ability to sit and wait. Let the early movers wear themselves out. Let them work early and fade too soon. It's still early. Next season will be long enough. I'll be ready when my sprint comes.