April, it turns out, really is the cruelest month. Even an introvert could use a little personal interaction now and then. This is really getting tiresome. On the plus side, I’ve avoided being intubated.
Yes, our standards here at the Rootchopper Institute have reached a new low. In the real world, I actually know four people who are medical professionals and are on the front lines of the pandemic. To my knowledge they are all doing well. Knock wood. Cross fingers. Salt over the shoulder.
From personal experience, I know that tomorrow April actually will be behind us. In my college days in Boston, April was when the sidewalk glaciers melted to reveal months of frozen dog poo. Ah, those were the good old days.
These days I’m plugging along in the DC suburbs, no glaciers in sight. It has been an unusually cold April with much too much rain. It poured all day today. I could have donned my rain gear and ridden outside, but in a fit on common sense, I decided to climb aboard Big Nellie in the basement for a day of recovery after yesterday’s 60 miler.
To add to my self pity, I actually rode less in April than I did in March. Quiche for breakfast. Quiche for lunch. Quiche for dinner.
I covered 772 miles this past month. With the exception of 32 miles in the basement, I rode all of it outside within 30 miles of home. So for the first third of the year, I’ve covered 2,906 miles. If I’m going to break 10,000 miles in this godforsaken year, I’m going to have to pick up the pace big time in the months ahead.
The last few days have featured a troubling development; my stenosis pain is returning. Fortunately, a couple of months ago I had the foresight to make an appointment with Dr. Pain for next Monday. I really, really, really don’t want to have another spinal injection but, absent Virginia legalizing medical marijuana in the next few days, I don’t have much choice.
But as Longfellow once said, into each life some pain must fall. Or, as my friend George says, life’s a shit sandwich and every day we take a bite.