No training: The downside

There is a worm burrowing its way through my hamstrings.

Or so it seems. Yesterday I headed out to Nine Mile for an furlough afternoon of cross country skiing.

It went well. I didn't fall. And although my heart clattered in my chest like the engine of Model T, it held together. My beard iced up nicely, which is one of the reasons I've grown it. (Nothing makes a guy feel more like a Viking than an icy beard.)

But I did have to stop several times, usually about 30 yards from the crest of a hill, to catch my breath. (Sometimes it was so far ahead of me, that I couldn't even see it.) I had to double check the bottoms of my skis; did someone glue sandpaper to them?

Normally, I should be getting in better shape at this point in the season. It's been more than a week since I had last skied, and it showed. (It's worth noting that yesterday was the first day in which temps were significantly above zero in about decade. Or so it seems.)

The end result was that it felt, really, really good to get outside for a significant period of time. The sun was out, and it actually felt warm on my back.

But I'm hobbling around a bit this morning, and I'm thinking that although training is a thing of the past, maybe I should practice more.