Happy 2014. Talking Tough to the Inner Weasel.

I talk to myself all the time.  

And just so you know, I have made no resolution to stop. 

Talking to myself is far better than listening to myself.

Because if I listened to myself all year the way I did in December...  

Well, it wouldn't be pretty.

Some people say that fitness begins in the kitchen.  Some say the gym.  Nope, not true.  Fitness begins in your head. 

Because let's face it, your head will listen to just about anything you tell it.

Last week, for instance.  

The first Tuesday night ride of 2014. 

Killer started it.  At the Econ last weekend.  He complained all 23 miles.  Click, click, click.  (Bike-speak for wah, wah, wah.)  Oh no.  Not another bearing.    

Which left me Bruiser.  Again. 

For lumpy-bumpy Turkey Creek. 

At night. 

In the cold. 

(Wouldn't you just sooner have a lobotomy?) 

OK, so it wasn't actually cold, but 40-something.  Cold for here. 

And windy. A nasty, 25 knot, north-wind sort of windy. 

And did I mention dark?  Really, really dark.  And damp.

Immediately the inner voice (that weasel!) speaks up.  "Well, no one says you have to go."

Uh oh.  When the Weasel speaks, my brain listens.  

Someone else needs to speak up, and fast.  And the only one here, besides the Weasel, happens to be me. 

Weasel:  "But it's sooo cold."

Me:  "There are no cold rides, only inadequate clothing."    

Immediately my brain switches sides, and I believe Me.   

I go and hike the box of cold weather clothes down from the closet shelf and dump it out on the bed.  

It's true! 

Headbands to toe warmers, it's all there.  Everything needed to balance between sweat and hypothermia on a windy, chilly, night ride. 

Weasel:  "Well, ok, but it's still really, really dark out there."

Me:  "There's a spare light on the charger. Just take it along." 

Sure enough - 6pm - standing over the bike - ready to go.  My helmet light (which apparently hates cold even more than I do) refuses to go on.  It means making the guys wait an extra minute for a swap out.  But at least my ride is not over before it starts.

Weasel:  "But you always get sucked in to going too fast.  You don't want to crash with Felasco coming up."

The Weasel drives her point home by reviewing some bike math. 

Cold wind + sweat = evaporation = brain freeze.  

Cold + crashing = more easily pulled muscles = the possibility of missing out on Felasco on Saturday.  

Missing Felasco = not an option.

Me:  "It's Ok to take it easy.  Just don't get sucked in, that's all."   It's all about talking myself out the door.  Once out, the dreaded low-temp night ride turns into yet another high-with-lights ride.  

Except, here's what I forgot.  There's another half to the fitness equation.  Just getting the ride done isn't enough.  You gotta keep right on talking. 

OK, so the night was a little colder than usual for the Beer Can Scramble.  Does that really mean that stinkin' little Weasel was right when she said it was ok to have a second beer?  And what about dinner?  Was that second serving she egged me into really necessary?   

And just because I made myself go to a cold, dark ride, on a heavy, hardtail bike...  Was it really OK to listen to the leftover Hershey's Kisses calling from their pretty glass bowl on the table?      

So.  Morning. 

First things first - while the Weasel is still asleep.   

Say goodbye, Kisses!

I get out some mints for the pretty glass bowl.  I like mints but they don't call to me.  And I know from experience it is much easier to have some candy around than no candy.  

No, it's not what you think.  I don't have the fortitude to talk myself into actually throwing away candy.  What if the apocalypse happens tomorrow and I can't get to Publix before the shelves are bare?    

No, all the lovely, shiny, Christmas Kisses (and Lindors, and Promises) go into a Ziploc. 

When I go to drop the bag on the pantry shelf - in behind the lentils and quinoa - I find another Ziploc.  Kit Kats from Halloween.  

Hopefully the Christmas Ziploc will soon be forgotten too.  At least until Easter, when shiny reds and greens will have no more appeal than a frosty iced tea in January, a hot toddy in July, or well, Halloween Kit Kats at New Years.

So, all I really have to remember is to be the first to speak up.  

The rest should be cake, right?  

Weasel:  "Mmm, cake!"

Oh wait, no, no, no.  No cake.  Who woke you up?   

I meant easy!   The rest should be easy.