Hope Springs...eternal?

Saturday - Hope Springs Eternal.  It's still more than 2 weeks until Pantani2020, and you've got time to cobble together a bike, fitness, emotional resolve, antibiotics, etc etc etc.  The list of adverse findings is long, growing longer every day, but you imagine yourself as one of those resilient people, the kind that can and will put a new tire on and add fresh sealant, rather than just plugging that shit, like your life itself, and hoping for the best.  You excel at things, or at least you want to.

But you don't actually ride, do you?  No.  You simply prepare to ride.  It's day one of your plan to get back on track, and you don't ride, and if the narrative of your life needed foreshadowing to hint at what the conclusion would eventually be, this would be it.

Tuesday - Hope springs eternal, though she's getting a little antsy.  The comeback started 3 days ago and, so far, not a single pedal stroke.  So on your lunch hour, you do intervals.  On a spin bike.  At the gym.  You do them, even though after the first one it's obvious where all of this is leading.
You do exactly two (2) intervals and call it good.  Baby steps, you tell yourself, with the toughness and logic of an actual baby.  Hope shakes her head, silently, wondering.

Thursday - Hope springs pretty eternal, sorta, but then Hope watches you have a few too many beers after a night ride, one where you probably should have called an Uber to get home, but you didn't do that.  You lived through it, though, and as much as Hope likes to see you actually riding your bike, you wake up Friday to a pounding headache from dehydration and a gashed knee from some barely remembered contact with the ground.  Were you wrestling someone?  Hope is determined, desperate even, to make sure you do a good hard effort on Sunday, so you ice your knee together, and Hope plots a workout for Sunday morning, bright and early.


Monday - Hope springs...wait, Monday?  How the Fuck is it Monday already?  Hope snaps.  You explain to Hope that you didn't wake her up on Sunday morning because your knee still hurt a little, and cartoons were on.  But, to put a positive spin on things, you did eat three of those salted caramel Honey Stinger waffles to make sure that you can digest them sufficiently (you can) and also because they are delicious.  Hope questions your authenticity in front of the kids, which is fair at this point, but Tuesday, you promise her that you will be skipping work and riding all afternoon, still 5 days to prepare for Pantani.  You can still do this.  Hope believes in you.

Tuesday - Hope remembers a time, long ago, when she loved you and believed in you.  Hope remembers you - the young, ambitious version of you - and she recalls not being disgusted by your breath or ashamed by your presence in public places.  Hope sadly understands that was all so very long ago, and if she's honest, mostly she needed the companionship.  Hope sits and watches now, straddling the top tube of your bike, ready, as noon becomes 2 becomes 4 PM, and eventually it gets dark and you're still nowhere to be found.  On your bike, alone in the garage in the darkness, Hope brushes a solitary tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

Wednesday - Hope needs a stiff drink first thing in the morning just to look at you.  Hope reminds herself that, once upon a time, she loved you, and she'd like to stay for the kids and all, but fuck.
You both know what's coming.  Hope tolerates a jaunt up Fox Mountain and back, but mostly Hope is just along for the ride now.  There's only so much Hope can actually do.  Halfway up Fox, you're wheezing, knee swelling up like a melon, generally oblivious and having an OK time, but even though Hope is there with you, she's really not.  She's just shaking her head, plotting her next move.

Thursday - Hope had good intentions, once upon a time, a positive outlook, but then life happened - like it's happening right now when Hope learns you will be night riding, again, on a bum knee, with zero fitness and a penchant for wrestling when you drink.  And your night ride is both departing AND finishing at Champion Brewery.  Hope throws up her hands in disgust.    Hope pops a quaalude, has a couple glasses of Chardonnay, and hastily packs her suitcase.  Hope is fucking out of here.  Hope wishes you luck at Pantani, but seriously, you're beyond help.  Hope cannot pedal the bike for you.

Sunday - Pantani2020.  You drive to the start line, alone.  You haven't seen Hope in three days.  You park in the field, say hi to a couple of people, and the weather looks OK, but there's a gloom upon you, the absence of Hope heavy on your mind.  But when you pull the bike off the rack, check the tire pressure, and mount up, she's there.
"Hope?"
She ignores you, waiting for your apology.  God she's beautiful.  How could you have been such a fool.
"Hope, I..I..." You stumble to find the right words, "I'm, excited!  I think we can do this."
"ME TOO!"  Hope is joyful, exuberant, with you until the end, or at least for the first twenty minutes.

You'll be better in the future, eh?

Keep Hope alive.
Keep looking up, up, up.