D-Day 2010

D is for De-Caff.

The most telling sign of what I have become comes from Artigiano, a coffee shop where I typically pick up my morning brew:

it’s 7:00 am, there is only one person in line, and it’s me
“Decaff Americano?”……
….“Decaff Americano to go” (she is looking around me, expecting to see someone else)
“Yes, that’s me” (a pause and look of bewilderment from across the counter follows)
“Decaff, really?”

Unfortunately this is the second day of the same routine, but after enduring yesterday there is no turning back now – everyday will progressively suck less and less until sometime around Mid-September, when I can finally declare my bond with caffeine dependency broken – and two weeks after that, it’s time to climb right back on the wagon (but what a ride it will be then)

Until then, my caffeine-deprived brain tries to remember how I got here, and why it has to leave when the party is getting sooo good.
But if caffeine is a party, then the first cup after resetting your internal tolerance to zero is like showing up sober; only to find that your first drink is laced with Ecstasy.

And no one throws a better party than Cyclocross Season, which is just around the corner…