So I woke up this morning and got on the bike, my spandex outfit though felt like if it was Peter Jackson’s tux, way tight. I was definitely on the girdle patrol, with my William Shatner gut trying to pop out. I truly wonder sometime at the fatigue life of my frame, the steel beast one day is just going to give up; most likely though most of the components will surrender well before that happens. But what if?

My fat guy’s commuter prayer, recite with caution.

Our father who pedals in heaven,
Hallowed be thy roads,
Thy hills will come,
And intervals be done,
Outside or on the trainer,
Give us our daily Powerbar,
Forgive us for cutting the guy’s corner
As we forgive those cars who cut in front of us
And lead us not to our anaerobic threshold,
But deliver us from the bonk, Shimano.