Apparently, I pushed it real good. Too much, too soon. I rode four days in a row, which was great, but after a hilly 26-miler Monday, I returned home with that same hacking cough I complained about in an earlier post.
“I thought the exercise would drive it out of me,” I said to my wife.
“No. That just made it worse,” she said. “You’re staying off the bike until you get rid of this.”
Which killed me, because although some rain was in the forecast this week, it never really materialized. We’ve had three glorious days in a row, and I was stuck indoors, doing actual work on the computer.
I’m fine, except for the cough. It’s not frequent, but when it comes, it’s loud and deep. I have even been banished to the guest bedroom because my coughing woke my wife the other night, and she had trouble getting back to sleep.
So, like a rider with an injury, I’m impatiently biding my time. It’s supposed to rain heavily here over the weekend, so those rides wouldn’t happen, anyway. I can only console myself knowing that this thing will go away, as it has done in the past, and all will be rolling again. It just can’t happen soon enough.