Actually, I don't need one. A wake-up call, that is. After a couple of days of this whole "getting up at 5:00 AM" thing, my body has adjusted and since yesterday I've been waking up at 4:45 without the alarm.
I don't know whether to celebrate or scream. It's probably going to be a little of both.
Anyway, 5:00 AM! 40 minutes, 10 miles again. Okay, more accurately it was 10.28 miles, but right now I'm happy with sticking at 10-ish miles per day for the next week. I'll worry about building more speed maybe around the end of next week.
I also need to figure out how to work in my intervals. I can't really watch the display to see how fast I'm going on a steady basis because it isn't lit, and I work out in the dark due to Choreboy's desire to continue sleeping. When I want to check my miles to make sure I'm on track for 10, I turn the iPad around and shine the light from its screen onto the bike display.
Pitiful, but effective.
So I'm thinking that I may reserve my interval training for the weekends. That mostly works for me, but part of my brain is still saying I need to spread those out a little more, so I'm going to need to give it a little more thought. I do have that Tabata MP3 playlist I put together, and I can definitely do that without seeing my display... so that could be an option.
My only concern with adding intervals to my early-morning workouts is that I'm kind of liking the alone time I have, snoozing husband notwithstanding. I'm reading a new series I'm really enjoying (the Jennifer Scales books co-written by Mary Janice Davidson -- she of the "Undead" vampire series fame -- and her husband, Anthony Alongi), and although the biking slows me down reading-wise, I'm still able to focus on it. That would change if I tossed Tabatas into the mix. I don't do change well.
Speaking of snoozing husbands, Choreboy let me know later yesterday morning that he'd actually been awake most of the time I'd been out there on the bike, and that he in fact witnessed Roach Fest 2012. Excuse me? I'm squeaking and freaking out over a damn bug and he can't even bestir himself to make it dead? Topping off his perfidity*, he failed to pitch the poisoned monster and it escaped. It's probably now going to develop a resistance to the lemon-scented Raid I doused it with and hunt us down in our sleep to stuff lemons in our ears or something.
When it does, it'll be all Choreboy's fault. And I'll be telling him about it. Repeatedly. And at great volume.
*Note: the dictionary says the word is "perfidy" rather than "perfidity". The dictionary is an ass.
Made to Feel Welcome
1 hour ago