This is where I go when I have nothing left.



When all which is within me has been exhausted. I have no more inclination to train when I come here.

Today was a struggle. But it ended with glory. I went out on this 91 degree day on the interstate, hoping to conquer a 56 mile ride. I was steadfast for the first 90 or so minutes, until I stopped to purchase more hydration. I then began to turn around, and it became very difficult.

The wind blew at me, the mechanized trolls of the asphalt became angered again, and my nutrition was not normative.

At around the 150 minute mark, I began to climb, around 15 miles from my desination. My tires began to swirve. I knew something was erroneous. The little pebbles I can normally traverse became vast pieces of rock face, unrelenting on my weakened frame. This is when I pulled the brake.

I really don’t like to stop when riding my bike. Perhaps it’s the runner in me. Always wanting to inceasantly, move through space. In any event, I stopped, found my front tire to have a slow leak, and part of the tire wall itself frayed and shredded.

I attempted to fix it. But that was futile. Frankly, I don't even know why I carry that damned repair kit. So I was stuck waiting for a ride.

I sat.

On the shoulder of dry dirt and sand, I waited. I sifted through red ants, dried rock, and cigarette butts. I was amidst the waste of the proletariat, so vastly spread before these unforgiving means of transit. When I finally was picked up, I came back to my little corner of the world.

Rome must not have looked much different from my home. For there is green grass, flowers, vegetable gardens, and cool breezes. Young children run in their barefeet to their honest, hardworking parents' arms. Among citizens, in the de facto sense of the word. But not far from this contemporary utopia lie the barbarians on loud machines that give an ignominious feeling to this harsh world.

But while sitting in that netherworld of neither completion nor failure, a place which refuses submission, yet has already given in, I resolved. I knew that I would not let this accident be in vain. So I did what I do, whenever I no longer feel worthy of my efforts. I ran.

So this ride turned into a brick, which tested me. I am still dehydrated, feeling nauseas and dizzy. I don’t want to move. I just want to sleep and drink Gatorade. I just want to relish in the past movements of today.

That is why I am back here. At the garden hose.