6.01.2013
362 of 365
He woke at 4 a.m. to begin his nineteen-hour-long ride for the day after sleeping for less than two hours. He had heard stories of other cyclists hallucinating from deprivation, but thus far, his training had spared him of such complications. But twelve hours in, the muscles in his legs began to seize. Then a truck swerved and flipped in front of him, its load exploding. His legs, no longer his own, pedaled straight for the flames.
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Relating to and expanding on, I believe that I have been blown up several times over the years and that my legs are still pedaling. It is what we do. Could it be that our brains are in our feet?
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