Biting back.

'A' game my ass. Don't get me wrong but I couldn't capitalise on my physical resilience with some mental strength today. 100k swooping through the southeast with 170 fellow cycling nutjobs should have been a doddle but my pride got in the way. I had everything sorted but half way through the event he showed up....You know the guy, right? Am I moving too fast? Ok, breathe... lets start at the start.
I can be vindictive. Cross me and I'll not forget. Might be something cutting you said in passing or a look you gave me you know you really shouldn't have. Cross my wife or kids and you're dust. I've really tried to work on it, letting it go etc. In fact there's people talking to me today that would not a few years ago. Over in the old Saint Mary's Abbey in New Ross there's a Leper's squint in the wall of the North transept. The leper's colony in the town (Norman soldiers had brought the disease back from the Holy Land during the last Crusades) would go to the tiny hole in the wall to receive communion, being forbidden to mix with the general population. At one point half a dozen years ago I felt like that leper, the focus of a condescending attitude from a coterie of cyclists I had once known well. And in today's event a particular scenario came flooding back as I ran into one of those self-same dudes. I don't know how much you understand about cycling but it's about conserving energy as long as possible. A few years ago I found myself only a few kilometres from home in a small group dropped by the leaders. The gap was only a hundred metres and on a false flat, three out of four of us were trying to bridge, each giving it everything. And this one guy told us he was cooked. Couldn't contribute. I rode on like a demon possessed, alarm bells ringing because the same dude was putting in savage training every week. We got to within fifty feet of the group but they were starting to pull away again. I did one last savage turn and expected honesty from the others when, out of nowhere,the non-contributing 'cooked' lad shot out from my slipstream and sprinted across the gap to the disappearing leaders. I blew spectacularly and limped home. And stored that away in my hard drive.
Today, 65km into the ride, on a serpentine, flooded back road, whom did I find myself in the company of? Mr 'I'm cooked' from yesteryear. I pushed myself hard and followed him in the gutters for the next few sections of the course. Indeed I pushed myself too hard in order to position myself well for the final few climbs. I made sure to hold back a little and certainly not contribute to his pace. My heart rate peaked at 188 on the climb after he was dropped. I needed to copper-fasten his demise but my efforts were signalling my own. My legs locked like Brinks in the final few minutes but by then I believed I'd delivered some karma for past misdemenours. Yet I'm sitting here feeling petty. Shouldn't I be all Zen and forgive and forget? Shouldn't I be the better person? Maybe. But sometimes you gotta right the ship when its been listing a long time.
I feel ashamed in one way to have finished today's ride in such a manner. Hadn't I had a ball catching up with the friends that always respected me? Hadn't I felt like a fleet God in the bunch all day? Wasn't it a Belgian-toothpaste-handlebar-licking-morale-lifting beauty of a ride before my pride? Yes it was. Maybe I'll pop over to the Abbey tomorrow instead of cycling and ask for forgiveness and tolerance.