The Bug

Eight o'clock at night, and it seems I have caught it again. In all it's anxious, eye-popping, nerve wracking glory. I'm infected with a long dead bug that used to rule my life, my very existence. It defined who I was for so many years, I quit counting.
Then, one day, I was free from it's adrenaline inducing grip. That freedom has come to a shrieking, brake sizzling halt.
Racing my bike was something I did like some kind of freak. Mostly it resulted from a lack of viable, reliable sex partners. Not having a girlfriend makes training really easy. How else do you get rid of that frustration and angst? You ride until the fight to mate has been sweated, bled and otherwise wrested from your being. I was burnt, though, after ten plus years, and thought I'd hang it up.

Until Today...

Today started out much like any other. Coffee, more coffee, then as my hands shook from too much coffee, a bowl of oatmeal. Today was different, though, slightly.

Today I awoke smiling, kind of nervous. Happy and anxious, but nervous. It felt strangely familiar, this sweaty-palmed maniacal sense awash throughout my body. I loaded up the car, and went to the cycling Mecca called Glendale. At Verdugo Park, I fell under the inescapable bug again. Today, I pre-rode the cyclocross course for tomorrows race. Racing....the bug. I can't wait, and fear I may have re-infected myself for another ten year period or so. I will get punished by the well trained masses tomorrow, but I guarantee no one will be happier at the end of the day than I.
The bug has me in it's muddy, dirty, grasp again. Thank God.

Cap'n