Old, Fat, Slow, and Out of Shape

Goddamn, I'm slow.

I used to be kinda fast. Of course, I used to not have a job. And my bike was worth more than my car. And I wasn't married. And I had no house. And for some damn reason, I miss those days.

So, against my better judgement and with some wifely opposition, I thought I'd take a shot at racing my bike again. Why, you ask? Hell if I know. It's not like I have the time. It's not like I'd have anything to gain. It's not like I want to crash. I just wanna ride.

You see, five years ago I woke up, went for a ride, showered, played some video games, then put in my shift at Blockbuster. Rinse and repeat. Then on the weekends, after weaseling out of a shift at the 'buster, I'd hit up Podunk Criterium and if I was lucky take home a tire prime or win enough cash to pay for the entry fee and gas on the way home. Most likely however, it'd just be the tire prime and some chump with "Mercury" or "Colorado Cyclist" on his chest would take any cash to be offered. Well, at least I didn't have to buy tires that month - that is if the tires didn't suck... which they probably did.

Then I got a job. The bike went on the wall and didn't come down. Then I got old. And fat. And slow. And out of shape. And here I am.

Which brings my back to my original point. Goddamn, I'm slow. I found that out this morning on my first group ride back. Old, fat, slow, out of shape, and dropped. Bastards.