Belgian night. A night to honor the lords of cyclocross, where the frites, waffles, and (ahem) beer flows freely whilst the crazy and healthy ensphere the back yard that hosts 5thStX. I was appropriately cold and slightly snowy- the pond in the front yard was frozen, and the outdoor heater finally fired up with a fresh tank of gas. The campfire was burning, headlamps were lit, and the racers were off. I was hoping it would be as much fun to watch as it is to ride, but I had no idea how badly I would pay for it the next day. See, I only drink a handful of times a year. I decided Belgian night would be one of those nights. How could I resist the wonderful malty beverages splayed across the table in the garage? The smell of waffles was sweet, the frites were crispy, and people were on bikes! I could almost hear the Manneken Pis statue peeing all the way from Brussels.  So I had a few. Got a bit loose. Lost track of time. Was found by my wife (I didn’t call telling her I would be late so she got worried). Got home. Fell asleep. Woke up with a hangover. Ugh. Now I remember why I only do this a handful of times a year. At least its out of my system now- my sorrows about my knee have been drowned. Time to get serious again, modify my training to focus on what I AM able to do, and get on with it.