It’s not because I have the attention span of a squirrel, or because my smartphone and the inundation of technology has conditioned me to only seek instant gratification. It’s because I’m watching these races on the big screen at my gym, where a replay of a three-week Grand Tour fills up a nice five-hour chunk of the day. I linger in the stretching area, staring at a 50-inch flat-screen TV, looking for Degenkolb, Cav, and Lotto, while wondering if my yoga pants are really getting more snug, or if it’s just a self-conscious reaction to the reminder that cyclists should always be unsustainably skinny.
Afterwards, I cross my fingers and step on the scale. Though I’ve perfected the art of making the act seem casual enough, I’m usually mentally pleading with the universe. Please, please, please, I think, make it a number over 51.5kg.