The Quick and the Dead

Sprinting sucks.

I got beat by a man towing his 3 year-old child on a pull behind “third wheeler” last night at the “Fish Slap”, the weekly mountain bike shoot out. We lined up side by side and I let them pull in front, thinking I could sit back and draft until the final moment when I unleashed the fury on them. The little boy had his head on a swivel, marking my position, prepared for an attack. Swinging like a crab trap on an Alaskan fishing vessel, first he was over here, then he was over there. They were blocking me out, the bullies.

I thought about how crushed the little boy would be when I put the hammer down and dropped his daddy and him like lima beans under the Sunday dinner table. Well, they asked for it. I began my kick.

My kick appeared to be just a bit slower than my original pace so I sat back down to contemplate my options. I could ease the bars left and swing out through the Church’s Fried Chicken Drive Thru and go home, or I could keep chugging for the finish line. I chugged, head held high- 14 seconds behind. Multi-generational beatings, that’s what I’m taking now.

They are a smaller framed people. If there had been one more, I could have juggled them like bean bags.

Next week I’m challenging them to wrestle.


4 Responses to The Quick and the Dead

  1. Now that’s hitting below the belt and missing the point entirely. (Semi)Clean living gives a man the confidence to look life in the eye and say, “Hey, I’m not kicking my own ass quite as hard lately, so you’re going to have to send me some of your very best shit.” Then you get to get your ass kicked by Dads and their half-pint sons, and feel good enough about it to let the readership in on the chuckle. Next week Juancho’s going to get his ass handed to him by a pregnant woman on a unicycle. He’s not scared.