Weekender

March rolled in like a lamb and continues to hang around, complacent, lamb-like, and soft.  It sort of reminds me of me.  Were I more like the month of January, hardened, prepared for anything, I might stuff everything I can carry into a pack and go try my luck at the Bel Monte Endurance Race this weekend.  Or, if I were more like July, joyful and lean, I'd head east, beachward, and go blazing fast around the Hilbert Track  as many times as possible. 

But, like I said, I'm a pretty half-assed March this year.  And by half-assed, I mean 1.5 asses, at the very least.  I bonked on a 30 minute lunch ride on Tuesday with Kev29er and CHam.  So clearly, I have no business 40 miles into a hard, technical effort at Sherando trying to hump my gigantic thighs up the jeep road, or blocking up the potentially significant traffic on the Hilbert loop like a greasy spot of congealed cholesterol. 

As a sort of proxy though, my awesome wife will be at the bottom of Turkey Pen if and when you finally get your weary carcass off of Torry Ridge.  She'll have, at the very least, kind words of reassurance for you that, despite your haggard appearance and whining a mere 20 miles into this race, you should try to make it back up the switchbacks and down Kennedy Ridge before, say, next Thursday.  And she might even have a tube you can borrow.  And my bro, Shawn, may very well not have abandoned his post at the bottom of Kennedy Ridge thinking that no one could possibly still be coming this late into the evening, and if he hasn't, I bet he'll have a workstand, some chain lube, and ass-cream.  You'll have to self-apply the ass cream.  And you'll have to convince yourself that climbing the jeep road just to wheel down the parkway and then promptly climb wintergreen is better than just letting some drink-driving jeeper run you over and end this malarchy. 

But, assuming all of that comes together, I bet you'll have a great time.  And even if you don't, remember, your pain and suffering is helping someone else feel better about their victory.  It's like the good doctor said, "For every moment of triumph, for every instance of beauty, many souls must be trampled." 

Sometimes that soul is yours.

No indeed, I'll be sitting this one out.  But I still might cramp.

Pack yourself a lunch. Live in the moment. 
Up, up, up.