There sure is a lot of unrequited yearning out here on the internet. I think this site here speaks for itself in that regard. Reading back through the archives, the days of satisfaction and redemption are few and far between. Like soap bubbles, each small joy captured sits briefly in our hands before popping and leaving a fading rainbow and a bitter taste. Nowhere is this as evident as it is in the sports blogging world. The uber athletes strive to be more uber, the work-a-day joes strive and yearn for improvement. For many it is a game of inches. A few minutes improvement is cause for elation, a few minutes slower brings befuddled dejection.
I don't think the striving has made a big difference in my riding one way or the other. I've flamed out after a good night's sleep and a power breakfast, attentive to my goo intake and heart rate. I've crushed rides regally hungover, pained and full of polluted self-loathing. It is all just so damn subjective.
Great performances are exciting. Talk about the pursuit of great performance leaves me drowsy like during a 9th grade biology film.
I still wish I was faster. And meaner.
-Juancho
6 comments:
I'm trying to thnk of how the small joys, once popped, leave a bitter taste. At first I thought you were just talking about all your pissed-off exes, but then I thought about how one good ride can make me feel stronger than I really am, and the next casual crushing I receive IS a dose of bitter medicine.
Very existential post.
I am the walrus.
kooky choo
As a practicing atheist, I can prove there is no God via the Beatles.
I can (by my own free will) stand in the street and at the top of my lungs shout to the heavens:
"The Beatles were shite and their impact to modern music overstated!" and somehow not get smote by lightning.....
Let's face it if there was an almighty even he would be a feckin Beatles fan.....
Fat Lad (A Rolling Stone man through and through)
Juancho, You want to be meaner? How much meaner can you get than refusing to accompany your mom through the jungles, leaving her with only her small hairy dog and one machete to fend for herself. I'm sure everyone will agree that that is MEAN!
Mom, get back in your room or I'll call the nurse.
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