Too Fast

My bike was trying to kill me this afternoon.

I rode home today faster than I have in years and I don’t know why.

Perhaps it was the vegetarian matzoh ball soup Deb made for dinner last night; or it could have been inspired by the lovely spring afternoon we’re enjoying in Seattle; or there’s a chance those testosterone patches I started wearing on my birthday are really beginning to work.

Whatever, I just couldn’t stop pedaling as furiously as I could; every time I started to slow down, I seemed compelled to keep pushing the pace back up.

Generally, I’m the anti-sufferer on the bike. You read about Eddy Merckx persevering through his misery in one grand tour after another; Lance Armstrong bragging about his tolerance for pain; an agonized Tyler Hamilton gritting his teeth so hard that he had to get all his molars capped; that’s not for me. I usually like a leisurely ride that makes me love my bike.

Not today; as I continued hammering, even up the hills I hate, I was hurting bad, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring my self to stop.

People ask me how I shower at work when I ride in; I explain that since I don’t ride fast enough to sweat, that’s not necessary.

This afternoon, though, my head and back got soaked with perspiration. If I were planning on being around anyone but my family this evening, I’d definitely need to jump in the shower.

At one point, I started seeing spots in front of my eyes and I took a few chances I normally wouldn’t, like racing a police car up a sidestreet. My cycling guardian angel must have been looking out for me since I neither got killed nor arrested.

Sitting here now, my heart rate back to normal, I’m still not sure why it happened. I think the Saluki just wanted to run and it was my job to keep up.