I went for my favorite rollerski today, a 20km (12.4 mile) out-and-back route on some country roads east of Northfield. The first and last 5km or so cover the same stretch of rolling hills, which are an easy warmup on the way out and a series of back-killing challenges on the way home, when I'm usually gassed. The hills were especially hard today, as I had not been able to roll since last weekend (losing some of that specific mix of balance and strength that only rollerskiing itself can maintain), I underestimated the heat and so neglected to bring water, and because I encountered an evil wind that reversed during my session, giving me an easterly headwind on the way out and a westerly headwind on the way in. But in the week since my last rollerski, the soybean fields have started to change from their lush green summer hue to the acid-yellow color of fall and harvest.
As with parenting, the worst workout is still better than good sessions of many other activities. And I was happy to see, as I cleaned up my workout log the other day, that since getting myself back running and rollerskiing in May, I have spent 67 hours outside under my own power, and covered just over 800km, a shade over 500 miles or about the distance from Northfield to Ann Arbor, Michigan. Not much compared to someone who runs a five miler every day without fail, but better than the, uh, 0 hours and 0 miles I'd accumulated in the nine months following Vivi's birth.