On laziness

Laziness a funny thing, because more often than not, it costs you more work in the long run, and sometimes, you know that when you opt for the lazy way.

My bike ride to work is neither grueling nor leisurely. It's hard to describe objectively, even to myself, because my perceived exertion depends on some mystery formula of sleep, food and caffeine intake, temperature, wind speed and direction, and tire pressure. And the prior day's or week's physical activity. Sometimes I barely notice the exertion, and other times, it's one painful slog five minutes into the ride. Sometimes the morning ride is fine and afternoon is painful, or vice ersa. It *is* always beautiful, at whatever time and lighting.

I learned the hard way give myself a break once in a while-- when I first started riding to work last summer, I biked nine days in a row-- a combination of riding to work during the week and riding to Mt. Vernon on the weekend. And I got burnt out.

So I thought about giving myself a break today, following a two-week streak of non-stop physical activity streak, including the hike at Harper's Ferry two Sundays ago, the physically grueling volunteer work on Saturday, Budokon on Sunday, and alternating gym classes and bike rides on the other days. I biked to the office picnic yesterday, and then biked the remaining three miles to Mount Vernon before heading home, since I'd had one or two cookies too many at the picnic. So I thought today would be a good day of rest. My internal dialogue followed.

A.: Good. I'm tired. Now what.
A.: Now go wash your hair.
A.: What? I don't feel like it.
A.: Here are your choices: wash your hair now, or bike to work and wash your hair at the gym.
A.: Bike. Gym.

The ride, which is about eight miles and not without its hills, is at least as physically taxing as the act of washing one's hair.

And in my head I knew that. But I really didn't feel like washing my hair at that moment. So I got on my bike and rode to work.

And it was a good ride. I have no idea why.

I thought the ride home would be painful, but it wasn't. I even got to help someone out. I'd just turned onto the river route after what I've taken to referring to as the Bermuda Triangle-- it's slightly uphill, but hardly the steepest incline on the trail, and yet it's disproportionately exhausting. Anyway, I was riding along the dock and looked at the jogger running in the opposite direction. I probably looked at her longer than I would have normally, because she looked a lot like my friend Anne. Who lives outside of Paris (and doesn't jog)... so I knew it couldn't be her... but the jogger looked enough like her that I looked just to make sure. And she noticed, and called out, "wait!" At which point I thought, "maybe it's Anne!" But it wasn't; she stopped me because she saw my dorky helmet mirror, and asked if she could use it to remove a bug that had flown into her eye. I said she could, she did, and she was much happier. And I still think she kind of looks like Anne.

Anyway, I'm not biking to work tomorrow. I am going to the gym, though, and Katy's teaching, so I have no doubt it's going to hurt.