zombie jebus and the coco butter ascent
a troll's prayer for a hemorrhoid free century
The bags are packed, water bladder filled and calories are counted.
The clothes are wrangled, socks picked out and shoes dried.
Calories are counted, packed and stashed.
The bike is tuned, re-tired and ready.
I’ve been eating pasta supper after pasta super all day today,
In fact, I just finished my last supper before the ResuWrection 100 mile ride.
Hopefully my brain bucket will not be lined with thorns.
Soon I sleep and once I rise, the banana is out, coffee pot cleaned and goat ready to be sacrificed.
Ok. So maybe I’m not going to sacrifice a goat.
Yet.
Though I’ve been resting all day for tomorrow, my mind has been racing.
Do I have everything? What’s the weather? How much wind? How many calories? Are these tires too skinny? Does the chamois butter make my arse look big?
That’s right dear reader, for a hundred mile ride, I’ve bought arse lube to prevent chafing.
It’s apparently coconut scented but I’m not going to test for flavour.
Maybe after the ride…
All that remains is to sleep, eat and ride off with a bunch of dudes who’ve ridden longer and faster before.
If I told you, dear reader, that I wasn’t nervous, that I felt completely ready, lightning would likey strike me down for the lie.
Zeke told the guys that this was my first time going this far, there’s no bail out and the pace can’t be too brutal: 100 miles in 10 hours. Slow for the kids like Chachi and O’Liam. Zippy who’s several years older than me will find it slow too.
But Zeke called the ride so Zeke sets the pace.
Does this make Zeke Jebus?
If I’m the kook, Am I Matthew, the tax collector? He was that Jebus asked to join his band of merry pranksters. I am fairly bougie and I like money. Either way, O’Liam is the youngest which definitely makes him John.
We don’t want to kill the troll. We do want him questioning his life choices.
I’m already questioning them.
And.
If I show up tomorrow and there’s a cross in front of Zeke’s house, I’m turning around and going home.
But beside crucifiction, I’m ready.
I’ve trained. Prepared, did the things.
Though I typically spit on most status games and hierarchies of acceptance, I have a deep respect for what these men can do. They push their bodies to do very difficult things regularly.
I’m the outta shape kook on this ride.
And I want to be part of this group.
I want to prove I belong.
You’re doing what? A smug and flabby Monday morning quarter back recently questioned. She continued: That sounds like a mid life crisis to me. What’s wrong with you? I don’t get why you’d want to inflict yourself with so much pain. Normal people just go on a buddy weekend to Vegas and…
Funny, I interrupted I choose the short term pain of a ten hour bike ride then the slow release joy that comes with the satisfaction as I recover. Dudes who go to Vegas engage in the short term ‘pleasure’ of hookers and blow then have years of the nagging pain that comes with shame and the fear of getting caught. I’ll take the mud, honey.
If this is my midlife crisis - punishing myself on a bicycle, I’ll take it!
Aside from the status of being a good father, husband and family member, this is the ony status I crave: The status of being someone who rides his bike for an extremely ridiculously, fiendishly long time.
The ResuWrection ride awaits! My attempt to rise to the occasion (and hopefully not resemble Zombie Jebus by the end). If I can conquer this, perhaps I too can perform miracles... like walking normally on Monday.
If you have a moment dear reader, please say this prayer for me:
Praise be to my anus,
Dear God, protect it from the stigmata of bleeding hemorrhoids.
Amen.
