Committed Douchebag.
It takes commitment.
When it's time to go, you go. Whatever you have in the tank is thrown on the fire. Every remaining ounce of energy is dedicated to one giant effort.
Sometimes it works. Mostly it doesn't.
Most often you're too beat down from all of the moments that came before. When it's time to go you've got nothing to offer, you've picked the wrong wheel, you wait too long, or you go too early. You lose the race far from the line.
At least, that's how the vast majority of my races end up.
When you're mentally in the game, you're constantly evaluating the competition. This guy is a huge diesel. Another guy has impressive one minute power but no tactical sense. That guy's been pulling for way too long to be a factor... as you separate the wheat from the chaff you figure out where you want to be when the race actually happens. All the stuff that led up to it was just tenderizing the meat. When it actually hits the grill, you're either riding for the win or you're riding for the finish.
Even with all of that calculation, it's very easy to get wrong. You pick the wrong wheel and get blocked in. Someone stays hidden and surprises everyone at the end. One of the huge diesels gets tired of towing everyone around and grinds away. The attack you thought was so decisive and burned every match to join fizzled 100 feet in front of a merciless pack. You're not as strong as you thought you were. A cramp. A bonk. Any number of random things.
When you're not mentally in the game, chewing on your stem just to stay in contact, sometimes luck is all you have. You luck into a good position, on the right wheel. You luck into being on the right side of the split. You luck into being around people that you have a fair chance of beating if you play your remaining cards right.
I'm generally not a lucky guy.
However, when the time comes, you put it all on the line. You bet big, even if you're bluffing, because that brief span of time is all that matters. You grunt. You strain. You push. You pull. Fluids flow from various orifices. The world narrows and turns red. Then black.
If you do it right, there's nothing left the second after you cross the line. You can't turn the cranks anymore. Your body is completely empty. You don't even have the energy to hurt. That comes later. If you do all of this, win or lose, you've reached a milestone.
You've become a committed douchebag.
When it's time to go, you go. Whatever you have in the tank is thrown on the fire. Every remaining ounce of energy is dedicated to one giant effort.
Sometimes it works. Mostly it doesn't.
Most often you're too beat down from all of the moments that came before. When it's time to go you've got nothing to offer, you've picked the wrong wheel, you wait too long, or you go too early. You lose the race far from the line.
At least, that's how the vast majority of my races end up.
When you're mentally in the game, you're constantly evaluating the competition. This guy is a huge diesel. Another guy has impressive one minute power but no tactical sense. That guy's been pulling for way too long to be a factor... as you separate the wheat from the chaff you figure out where you want to be when the race actually happens. All the stuff that led up to it was just tenderizing the meat. When it actually hits the grill, you're either riding for the win or you're riding for the finish.
Even with all of that calculation, it's very easy to get wrong. You pick the wrong wheel and get blocked in. Someone stays hidden and surprises everyone at the end. One of the huge diesels gets tired of towing everyone around and grinds away. The attack you thought was so decisive and burned every match to join fizzled 100 feet in front of a merciless pack. You're not as strong as you thought you were. A cramp. A bonk. Any number of random things.
When you're not mentally in the game, chewing on your stem just to stay in contact, sometimes luck is all you have. You luck into a good position, on the right wheel. You luck into being on the right side of the split. You luck into being around people that you have a fair chance of beating if you play your remaining cards right.
I'm generally not a lucky guy.
However, when the time comes, you put it all on the line. You bet big, even if you're bluffing, because that brief span of time is all that matters. You grunt. You strain. You push. You pull. Fluids flow from various orifices. The world narrows and turns red. Then black.
If you do it right, there's nothing left the second after you cross the line. You can't turn the cranks anymore. Your body is completely empty. You don't even have the energy to hurt. That comes later. If you do all of this, win or lose, you've reached a milestone.
You've become a committed douchebag.
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