Not a Metaphor

This past Saturday I went on a 96 mile bike ride on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It started out nice, but about 70 miles into it, I realized that I was not really in the shape to ride 96 miles. After one stretch that saw me climbing for five straight miles up a rather steep incline (ascending 1500 feet in that one climb), the ride was officially grueling. Grueling became painful. Painful became excruciating. And yet, I kept pedaling up the road because that was the direction in which my car was located, parked just after mile marker 167. Slowly the wooden mile markers ticked past . . . 134 . . . 135 . . . 136. Up one climb, then coast down the descent only to climb again. 142 . . . 143 . . . 144 . . . Everything either hurts or is numb. Up another incline . . . 151 . . . 152 . . . 153 . . . Running out of water. Wow, that squirrel is huge. Is he talking to me? . . . 160 . . . 161 . . . 162 . . . 162? Holy crap, just five miles to go and I'm done with this! Excitement reigned. As I pedaled the last few miles thinking only about going home, laying down, and drinking enough to make the pain stop, the suffering was only getting progressively worse. I was more sore and tired at 165 than I was at 135. And yet, because it was the last few miles, I was getting progressively happier.

Anyhow, that story is neither here nor there . . . stay tuned for the second to last night of season 6 of 24!