A Cyclist's Soliloquy
Posted 06:29 AM, November 07, 2007, by luciadvmTo attack, or not to attack, that is the question:
Whether 'tis wiser in a race to suffer
The pain and agony of a heroic endeavor,
Or to take cover in a sea of wheels,
And by so doing, lose. To recover, to drink;
No more; and by recovering to say we end
The anguish and the thousand painful shocks
Our buttocks are heir to--'tis a conclusion
The tired devoutly wish. To eat gel, to sit in;
To sit in, perchance to be pulled: Ay, there's the rub,
For deep in the peleton what opportunities may come,
When we have forsaken our spot in the breakaway,
Must give us pause. There's the quandry
That makes calamity of so long a race,
For who would bear the cramps and aches of exertion
Th' hill's steep pitch, the wind's harsh gust
The pangs of dehydration, the rain's cruel chill,
The insolence of those sucking wheel, and the spurns
That passing th' unworthy takes,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a fake mechanical? Who would queasiness bear,
To grunt and sweat in a weary race,
But that the dread of finishing last,
The unwelcome result from whose shame
No cyclist returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear the torture of a sprint
Than to finish with a standing we know not of?
Thus conscience does make competitors of us all,
And thus the native hue of languor
Is sicklied o'er with the bright cast of courage,
And with legs of great strength and speed
We find the peleton drops away
And the finish line comes into sight.
-William Shakespoke.
(aka Lucia Mokres)
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