Friday, 14 December 2007

No Duh

Markets Fall On Inflation Fears

It takes a real savvy economist to have predicted that one. Tongue firmly, of course, in cheek. There were earlier warnings as well. The thing I've got to ask is why some monkey brained half wit who's dumb enough to like wading around in concrete and dirt piles all day could predict this but the people who were supposed to be able to couldn't? This is 100% a "they are dummies" thing, not an "I'm so smart I'm probably be given Cat 3 emeritus status" thing. And the writing for this one was on the wall way before the above referenced.

My legs hurt. Real. Freaking. Bad. Like I was probably pretty funny to watch while walking up ladders today. Feel the burn and all that. Last night absolutely convinced me beyond any shadow of a doubt that rest is what makes you strong, because work has made me weak. I did a relatively short trainer workout last night, in which there were a bunch of short below threshold intervals. One of them was "close your eyes for ten minutes and roll at 250 watts for ten minutes, marking the effort by feel." Good God, it felt like I'd reverted back to my fetish days and was visiting the dominatrix. 250 watts has become a pretty pedestrian output for me, or so I'd thought. I would rather have been beaten with a sack of oranges for 10 minutes. My thigh muscles had this slow cooked bratwurst look to them, like they were about to burst with juicy meat goodness. Mmmmm. Juicy meat goodness. But I digress. After stretching and situps and stuff I tried to use the stick, which normally carries a little shock and awe value, but lawdamighty this was like rolling a freaking burning log over my legs. So now I'm supposed to go repeat Wednesday's homo-cidal workout tonight. And I already blew off the workout I was supposed to do this morning - an hour and a half of steady rolling. Clue #1 - I ain't getting up at 3:30 to work out. The math, she don't work too good. 1:30 morning workout + 2:30 evening workout + 10 hours at work + 1 hour commuting = 15 hours. That leaves 9 hours in which to eat, shower, change clothes, spend quality time with Mrs. Wagon, gaze at my navel, write the dumb blog and sleep. Ain't happening. Plus there's the whole "I can't walk" thing.

Have a crappy weekend of riding on your trainers. I know I will!

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