It's confession time. Time for owning up to my tawdry hidden vice. Time to tell the world about my deep character flaw. Time to cleanse my sinner's soul in the healing waters of truth.
It's not pretty, I'll forgive you if you choose not to read on. But as Bob Dylan sang "There comes a time when even the President of the United States must stand naked." So stand back while I (metaphorically) drop my drawers.
This particular vice of mine takes me over, possesses me, when I am on my bicycle. It happened again this morning as I labored up the long, shallow grade from my pharmacy to my house. I was about halfway up the mile-long climb, and in a mild "off" state when I spotted them about a hundred yards ahead: a fit-looking couple my age or younger, pedaling their way up the path ahead of me. The distance swiftly vanished and I passed them with a cheery "Hello" while in my heart, I experienced secret gloating glee, intensified to a bright glow as I overtook a third well-outfitted rider soon after.
I know, I know... they are not that different than you and me. And where's the merit in besting them in a contest they don't even know they are in? But I can't help myself, I'm only human. Is it really so wrong?
So here it is, judge me if you must. I am weak. I cannot stop myself.
I make sport of the undisabled.
2 comments:
Pete,
If I'd been on that road, you'd have pedaled by me, too.
No need to feel bad about feeling good, I say. Most of us have certain talents, some of which we trade for gold for mutual benefit.
Without talent and the means to trade it for ones living, one becomes dependent rather than productive, and truly has cause to feel bad.
Better to have talent.
Or at least absolution from anonymous benefactors.
Thanks
Post a Comment