It’s almost the end of class. I psych myself into this posture by believing I’m climbing the L’Alpe D'Huez in the Tour de France, one of the toughest climbs imaginable. Forget that I learned how to ride a bike at age 40. I’m winning this stage, the toughest of the entire Tour. My toes are the handlebars. I’m pulling like a maniac. As I pull, my torso curves aerodynamically. My hamstrings are screaming. I duck in further. I’m pulling a Jens Voigt. Shut up, legs! I pass Alberto Contador—I give him the finger. This one’s for Andy Schleck, cheater! I know somewhere Phil Leggett is telling a worldwide audience, “Bishop is really dishing out the suffering today! He’s left the peloton in his dust!” I hear the cries of pull, pull, last chance, pull! I see the yellow line in front of me.
Some days, I’m gassed, and I just need that bastard Kloden to drag me up the mountain. (Andreas Kloden, whose last name became a verb for me and my friends Mike and Sean in 2004, when he openly challenged his team leader, Jan Ullrich, for squad supremacy during the Tour de France. Actually, he became a verb and a noun, as in, “I can’t believe he Klodened you when he start chatting up that girl you were hitting on,” and “What a complete Kloden.” I think of Kloden because he actually did guide a teammate up the mountain—Lance Armstrong in 2009. So maybe we were a bit hard on him. He’s still in our dictionary, though.)
Nice write-up, Scott. I think that you could've subbed "Vino'd" for "Klodened" and been on safe territory, by the way.
ReplyDeleteOh, and I'll be trying my first yoga class next week - nowhere nearly as intense as you've been doing, however.