After reviewing my commitments and available training time between now and January 13, the day of the Tour De Felasco it is time for some desperate reframing of the context of the event. Like my main man David “I got a bag of pee in my hand” Blaine, I will be attempting the tour in the worst possible state of conditioning. Between now and then, I will not prepare my body for the ensuing suffering in any way. I will ride 50 cold miles over rugged terrain with my hand still holding the indentation of a remote control in its soft palm. The scent of peanut butter pretzels will waft from my breath even as I clip in at dawn. The hell with it, who am I kidding? I will most likely be able to ride about 14.7 miles between now and the tour.
The thing is to confront a challenge right? So let’s make it truly challenging. I hereby declare a moratorium on training.
Who’s with me?
I’m confused, and not just in the ususal way. I thought you didn’t get in. Did your great fame get you a media VIP spot? Did you tell them you knew me? Or is this just wishfull thinking? Don’t toy with my emotions, man! Will you truly join us for our fabulous Death March, and bitch horribly as the Hate Fatigue sets in?!
I’ll one-up you, I won’t train OR ride in the Felasco, but perhaps sit on the sidelines and cheer something fuzzy and positive.
I’ll say something like “you’re all winners! YAY!” Then, when you pass, I’ll sip my beer and take another pastrami bite, Oh, and have some of those snacky peanut things you keep mentioning.
um… isn’t that a ride, not a race?
Say hey to my grandma when you go.
She thought she’d be all hard core this year and ride it on her unicycle.
I am getting in through the good graces of my Reddick connections.
And anon- I thin k we both know that every ride is a race no?