Sunday, May 9, 2010

so tired.

i am tired.

i have stress-zits all over my face, and i'm only getting uglier. probably more hair fell out. if only i could transfer the growth on my legs to that (dwindling) on my scalp. it's one of those stressed/worn-out tirednesses that sounds like the inevitable lead-out of 'my ass is getting bigger' to the christmas list diatribe of all the things wrong and fat and no longer new or fantastic. i'm the old wheels with the stripped nipple. i'm the dirt on the inner chainring, right by the crank arm bumper. i'm that nagging thread on the rear tire, indicating wear much deeper than hoped for.

it's been a long weekend.

no, we did not get friday off. friday was spent riding all the bad roads of toronto, heading to and from volleyball tournaments with and against rush hour traffic, in and out of the pissing rain. saturday was hammering and pulling and hammering and pulling and then..gloriously sailing in the 80 km/h winds of this undecided spring. tailwinds are beautiful; headwinds require some religion. today was more pulling and hammering, though not on two wheels. there were toddler head injuries to tend to, invalids to nurse, and mothers day to top it all off. wtf. no rest for the old ugly guys. it's been long.

and the serotta is dirty. and it's staying that way till i take it out again and hammer myself good and hard for good measure. i don't know that i'm meant to ride with people. i always find myself outmatched or underwhelmed and there's rarely a satisfying co-existence of given'r. whatever. solo it shall be. as long as the post-ride beer doesn't have to be.

i had a revelation, by the way, and thought i'd share it:

yesterday, back from the epic ride that rapha would have enjoyed, if only it had been in more picturesque and mullet-inducing scenery, i climbed out of the shower and looked down at the bath mat on the floor. there, side by side, were his and her piles of identical contents. a pair of well-loved riding bibs, riding socks still inside indoor birkenstock slippers, and a jersey on top, all hastily peeled off in anticipation of the steam-filled wonder of the post-ride shower. you know you've made the right choice, somehow, somewhere, when your piles look like that, side by side, without even trying. either that, or i'm excessively boring and making mountains out of molehill lycra...

time for bed. here's to optimism in spite of absolutely every damn thing. here's to going to sleep knowing that none of it was easy, and all of it was worth it, or will be some day.

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