Some years it's the financial trouble,
Some it's the loneliness that gets me.
Others years it's being broke beyond broke beyond broke.
And others it's the temptation to do other things,
To see other places,
Or just be someone else for a while.
But the constant is this: it won't be easy.
At least not for me.
The trials might be different,
From one year to the next,
But one thing's for sure:
Getting ready to race bikes,
Takes work and sacrifice.
It takes, above all, persistence,
In the face of,
I wonder sometimes: are there other types of guys out there?
Men who never ever get frustrated.
Men who never have second thoughts.
Or get sick.
This year, for instance, it's my knees,
My knees hurt, and I don't know why.
Well wait --
Of course I know why:
Years of heavy use,
A few nasty crashes,
And a genetic predisposition.
The point is, they hurt.
And I'm scared for them,
Because shit -- I love cycling,
But how much damage am I doing here?
But my dad, who's sixty,
Moves around the racket ball court,
More nimbly than I do.
What I'll be like,
When I'm sixty.
It's really just another hill to climb.
And cyclists know how to climb hills.
The best part is:
I'm not solving this problem alone.
I have people helping me,
And who are every bit as invested,
In how I do,
As I am.
People who know more than I do,
And are confident,
I'll figure this out.
I have yet to encounter,
A human endeavor,
That people respect,
Because it's easy.