The weather was warm and lovely. The course was fast and fun for the most part. My bike was working. My legs were working. And yet…
Minutes away from the lunch station I crossed paths with every single person that I knew in the event as they all departed lunch in happy little packs of three to six. No matter I thought to myself, a quick lunch, a second wind- then run them down like the dogs they are. I slurped down some soup and crammed three pb & j’s in my face as I sat down to stretch out the hams. All around me spandex-wrapped honkies brayed and chortled at a variety of inside jokes. Snippets of heart monitor comparisons, something about a little Van Morrison in the I-pod. Was this me? Were these my people? In a horrifying realization I determined that yes, I did in fact belong here. I checked the time. 12:40 P:M. Plenty of time to turn it around and hump the last 24 miles out, and yet…
I found myself focusing with tunnel vision on a red arrow that said “bail”. “BAIL, BAIL, BAIL, BAIL” echoed in my brain. I pictured myself napping in the sun. I followed the red signs.
Four miles later, in a trance of indifference, I loaded my truck and rolled out- a clean break from the 50 and all the harassment that accompanied its arrival. Over. Now there would be new harrassment. I think change is nice.
As I arrived back at the pole barn, Ma Ingalls was loading up to drive the covered wagon to Fort Ocala to do some trading and I found myself strolling the aisles of BED, BATH, & BEYOND shopping for bundles of cinnamon pinecones, plastic re-usable ice cubes, and “massaging implements”.
There are so many excuses that there is really no challenge in using them. The too long ride the day before. The endless hours in the car, the plane, the restaurants, the bad hotel beds, important family commitments and amazing life events, you see? I could do this all day.
Bailing is easy, and I suppose that is why people do it. See you there next year!
Send in the harpies-