It starts with a cloud. You check the forecast. You check your phone. You check the sky. A 40% chance of rain. That’s not really a thing, is it? That’s just… possibility. Probability. Schrödinger’s weather.
There’s a moment. A quiet, chilly moment. You’re standing in the doorway, bike ready, snacks packed, one arm in your jersey — and you’re just staring at the sky. It looks… grey? But not mean grey. Kind grey. A little damp around the edges. Possibly…
You clip in on a crisp September morning, still high on memories of July watts and suntanned smugness. You tell yourself the legs are still there. They’re just a little “rested.” A little “recalibrated.” You roll out. And by kilometre 12, you know.
You’ve finished your ride. You’ve climbed hills, outrun a wasp, and maybe even waved smugly at a runner. You’re tired. You’re sweaty. You’re pretty sure your left hamstring is considering resignation. There’s only one thing on your mind.
