Friday, September 24, 2010

The Art of Living in Denial

Last night was the Poto MMBA group ride. I struggled and took chances and went down pretty hard. I don’t care about the road rash, the body has an amazing ability to repair itself, I care that I went through yet another pair of shorts. I am down to a mere two pair that are appropriate to wear in public. I can tell I lost a lot of skin; I had to rip the bed sheets off my thigh this morning like a band-aid. It’s best to do it quickly and with authority.

I forgot lights so I didn’t do the North loop. I rode the last part of the trail by myself. In this slow, quiet rhythm, I contemplated if my poor performance had a medical explanation. I normally blame my waning performance on weight gain but fortunately I have been under so much stress this year that I have no appetite at all, very convenient.

Maybe my arteries are restricted. It’s not my fault, it’s McDonalds’. Perhaps I need to go in for a routine angioplasty to crush fatty deposits in my blood vessels. The increase blood flow should catapult me up hills.

Maybe I have chronic pneumonia. Those poor microscopic air filled alveoli in my lungs are under water, or whatever fluid that is which fills one’s lungs. Sure, I haven’t noticed any symptoms but when it comes to overlooking ailments, few can live in denial better than me. I went to the doctors two years ago because I crashed pretty good and landed on my knee. The arthropod looks at the x-ray and points out a partially calcified fracture at the bottom of the image. He asks if I realized I fractured my tibulae the previous summer. Uh no, I did not notice. He asks: “Well, did you crash your bike last year too?” I didn’t even know how to respond.

Maybe my testosterone level is low. I was tested before and my levels were high, off the charts actually; however, I’m not in my 30’s anymore. Again, nobody can live in repudiation better than me but I see myself in pictures and shutter and realize I am not immune to ravishes of old age. I might go get tested. Maybe pick up a six pack of EPO while I’m there.

Maybe my poor performance is my fault, the result of only riding twice a week, and typically uninspired rides at that. No, that doesn’t even make sense.

Maybe it’s my bike…


  1. It's not you. It's the bike.

    And now that I'm an ace MTB enthusiast, i can say this with certainty. ;-)

    I hope the pain from the crash is lessening.

  2. Thank you. I figured it was my 19 lb, ceramic bearing carbon-fiber bike as well.