A lot can be said of a pleasurable Sunday out at the races. Some beers, some kicks. Families and Wives sitting out the rain in the
tents, managing bored kids. Probably dinner somewhere later.
Something to do around the house. A long shower.
All of this life. This regular guy stuff. But,at this moment, right here, all I cared for in the world was to cross the line before that other man.
We had been at war for two miles, breathing like horses. Insane in the mud and regretting every wrong thing I'd ever done:
Imagined music pounding in my head, and bile in my throat.
And the motherfucker pipped me at the line. He had it. I didn't.
3 comments:
Well, you have a lot of wrong to weigh you down.
You can see in his eyes, however, the virtuous life he has lived. The steely gaze of the monk.
Whatever, it's these battles that make it all worthwhile.
Its probably because he shelled out for the full kit…
It's easy to get all fired up when you're riding for the glory of a first place finish. It takes way more inner strength to fight tooth and claw for 59th place. You're the Man.
Post a Comment