23. EVER SO SLIGHTLY MORE ASS.....

The play is over. And now I am sad. Fairly surprising, considering the idea of partaking in amateur theatre up to this point in my life was, well...not. Our last performance was Saturday night and I’d have to say it went really well. Sunday....and as it turned out Monday...and a bit of Tuesday I suspect, was pull the whole thing apart day(s) (‘bump out’ in theatre speak - because you wouldn’t want to just say ‘pack up’ or people might know what the hell you were talking about) and as I say – the whole thing was quite melancholy. Over a two week amateur production.

Ridiculous. 

Except that this illustrates something I have felt for some time really quite nicely. See, it used to confuse me that I could get so very wrapped up in something like a 5^th Grade Suburban Rugby game (let alone semis and Grand Finals). To the point where I would quite happily put my level of nervous excitement immediately prior to running on for a Grand Final on a par with any top level athlete prior to whatever big game he or she is suiting up for. This is ludicrous, barmy and mental.

But of course it’s not.

Because, be it the 5^th Grade Grand Final or the local amateur production of a locally written and produced play about lying goats and gold crapping donkeys, I am fully invested in either. It’s really nice if you guys give a hoot about them also, and it’s entirely choice when the punters turn up to cheer, but it’s certainly not a pre-requisite as far as I’m concerned. 

This is why hobbies work and why, thank Christ, quite a lot of people still strap on the boots themselves on a Saturday or Sunday morning instead of letting out an exasperated ‘screw this’ and plonking themselves in front of the TV to watch the professionals run around while they load up on beer and fried carbs (mmmm fried carbs). Because if I can only be bothered doing something at the highest level then I’m frankly not going to be doing much of anything at all. And neither would anyone else.

Moving this discussion back to cycling (finally). I am fully aware that I will not be performing any back flips in the near or distant future (barring the development of some age rewinding treatment we have as yet not been made privy to), and as fast I can grind up the hill towards Finchley Trig (think of a hill, multiply that hill by another hill then add a hill) there are 5 or 6 people I run across on a daily basis who would make me look like I was standing still on it. But that’s fine. Because as long as I’m being honest with myself and pushing myself forward I can feel entirely comfortable with the whole thing.

So good on you Cadel Evans with your outrageous hill climbing ability and 0% body fat, I will continue to grind my own way up my own, slighter less high than the Alps, hills, and do so unapologetically.

NEXT: It's here.