Scott Martin

I dread this time of year. Not because of the prospect of Thanksgiving dinner with the relatives (complete with turnips, candied yams and the lamest vegetable of all, Uncle Myron).

No, I fear November because it’s in the most grueling part of the training year: the rest period.

Just about every cycling regimen worth its salt tablets heartily recommends taking a break about now. Recharge your batteries. Catch up on household projects. Spend more time with the family.

Sorry, but I don’t need anybody clamping jumper cables to my body, er, battery. And one of the reasons I ride is so I never have to plant those hydrangeas, stain the cabinets or plug that gas leak.

Spend more time with the family? See: Dinner, Thanksgiving.

Actually, I tried to rest one November a few years ago as part of a training program I read about. As prescribed, I did nothing for 7 whole days. Felt pretty good, and only gained 20 pounds.

Then I spent 3 months riding conservatively, never letting my heart rate rise above watching-the-Weather-Channel level. I zigzagged up speed bumps. The Senior Center Walkathon passed me. Spiders spun webs in my big chainring.

But, boy, when those 3 months were up, I was . . . well, I was really good at going slow. Took me till October before I could inflict pain on my riding buddies. Which is the whole point of training, right ?

Look, taking a break is fine if you’re a pro and cycling’s your job. For me, riding is my vacation. I don’t need a break from my bike. I need a break from life, and riding is it.

Besides, if I can’t ride on Thanksgiving, Uncle Myron’s going to be wearing those candied yams.

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