The torture chamber.
In my garage.
I choose to use this thing you know.
Even when the sun is shining.
Sat inside, watching a 10” screen, hunkered over bars, dripping over frame.
Why do I do it? You may ask.
Because time is tight and runs off me like so much rainwater. Because conditions are rarely conducive, with traffic that never plays ball. Because there are no interruptions, no distractions, no obstructions, just me and it, and spinning legs, and dripping sweat and burning pain and ultimately, some far off reward. Because I may want to ride to John O’Groats on a whim. Because I want to contribute to the team effort. Because I’m not getting any younger and I’m trying to keep a particular future at bay.
Its in my garage.
This torture chamber.
Yesterday, emerging out of the chamber, sodden with sweat and blinking at the blazing sun like Steve McQueen leaving the cooler, I paused, looked around me and asked ‘why?’
Simple, really. As a Dad, manager, coach, school governor, student etc. etc. et bloody cetra; were it not for the turbo – that thing that robs you of Vitamin’D’ and being among the trees – I’d be unable to spin my cogs to any great effect at all. The turbo trainer – highway to hell, shortcut to fitness.