My race was traumatic. I've never felt so beat up. The fucking course was eight kinds of slimy shit and a cornfield. Between the cowbells and the honking of the migrating geese I could barely hear myself retch.
I started in the back of my field, got dropped immediately and ended up mixing it up with clydesdales (fat fuckers) and juniors (kids).
I racked my nuts so hard remounting in the oak trees that I saw Krishna. Then, halfway thru the last lap I overcooked a transition from concrete to slop, and found myself ass-over-teakettle in a blackberry bramble behind a chicken coop.
No brakes, no shifting, 28 pounds of mud and steel and carbon fiber, and I'm still pulling thorns out of my ass.
I'm stoked for next sunday.
(reprinted from an email to 43. Hang with me, the movie will be finished soon)
- ► 2009 (95)
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- ▼ November (17)