Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Dropping back from the peloton

***WHACK!!*** How many hits to the head does it take to see what you're doing right now objectively? How are you supposed to just set aside your ego when you've done so many hours agonizing over a training program? Why is it that we cocoon inside our heads and detach from a searing, life changing problem?

How did I end up taking a walk to the drugstore to get my hands on as much pseudoephedrine as I could?

"Fuck it everyone's fucking doing drugs at some point."
Dust started to pop up from the road as huge droplets of rain fell onto it. I could see the small clouds of dust scatter into the air through the wheels of the guy I was riding with. Behind us I heard the sound of cars tires scratching at the gravel shoulder and a yell from some other rec rider. "HEY!" was all he could muster. I checked my shoulder. My new found eyes saw everything in a new cinematic dynamism. Some asshole dudes in a crappy, faded, white 80's Chevy Caprice were pushing cyclists off the road. The typical Toronto storm clouds were beginning to roll over the industrial park. The sun was gone but everything had this fluorescent glow - I had never seen so much contrast in gray before. They were coming for us now, me and this nice 60-something cyclist. Trying to interrupt our conversation about money and sport. Fuckers! The wheels hummed as they tried to push us over. I pulled back on the old man's arm to get behind me and away from the assholes trunk. We were supposed to be taking it easy for fuck sakes I just did hills yesterday....I should just ignore them. "Just let them go" said the guy I was riding with. "Yeah, but you're old...FUCKERS NEED TO BE CHASED" and before I could get that thought out I tore after them...

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