Like a supreme court nominee who drinks and thinks with his entitled, tiny, little gavel, my training schedule is on auto-pilot. It’s that time of year where I’ll go into drunken black-out mode – I’ll do what I do, what the animal in my loins tells me to do – and I don’t need to think of it, won’t remember it, will probably lie about it, minimize it or deny it altogether when it’s all over, when I sober up and zip up in Spring. Yes, it’s off-season & dry-land time!
Why do I do this? Because it’s what I know. It’s in my DNA. It’s that time of year when Plyo’s are the New Black and Advil becomes something I need to list on medical screens as a permanent medication.
But it doesn’t stop there…nope. Time to get out the crud bearings and smaller wheels and make my trail skate as daunting as possible. Find every damn hill and climb it in full, gale-force headwind. It’s what makes skaters great again. And that should get me where I want to be next year…standing next to you on the podium in Duluth. Ya, you betcha.