The last three days have been a swarm of contrasts. I sat out yet another race on Saturday, this time because of the food poisoning. I really enjoy sitting races out, handing out water bottles and watching everyone else suffer, but Saturday I wished I was suffering with them.
The contrasts continue. I’m hungry—no, starving, but don’t want to eat. I’m restless, but haven’t the energy to do more than sleep. I ignore the churning in my stomach but the scabs on my face require an explanation to everyone who stares (or pretends not to stare) at them. I want help but can’t bring myself to spend the hours searching for a doctor that can see me today.
There is some good news. My neck is feeling somewhat better, although it still hurts to sneeze. And I’ve lost eight pounds. Some guys spend thousands to shave a single pound off their bike. Doing it this way has saved me money that I would normally be spending on burritos. If that doesn’t make me light and fast at Deer Valley on Saturday I’ll have to get a better paying job.
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