December 4th, 2014


(no subject)

It was cold as I reached the third plateau, and I'd neglected to put on a scarf. I slowed to catch my breath and looked down through the pedals. As there had been the day before, an old towel was frozen to the street, looking a good bit like a silhouette of Abraham Lincoln's head in profile.

At the first plateau, though, I had sucked harder for breath. Much harder. There was a moment of panic, subconsciously driven, of "I can't breathe". The resulting spike of adrenaline made it worse before it got better. It was something that had happened to me many times before. The difference, though, as I reached that third landing, was obvious: I had even by the strictest definition done it to myself, and more importantly, I would live to do it again. In all likelihood, in fact, I would live to do it to myself many more times.