I heard on the radio this morning that Cadel Evans is now in the lead in the Tour de France. I don’t really care that he’s in the lead, but I still thought this was amazing. How do you fall off your bike, get covered in cuts and bruises, spend the day being tended to by a doctor, and emerge at the end of the next day in the lead of the Tour de France?
I mean, this strategy has never once worked for me! As I reminisced about the past, I found myself overcome by jealousy. When I had a bike, I always fell off it less than ten seconds after deciding to ride. (Usually in less than five.) My arms are different lengths, and it was impossible for me to steer the damn thing. I usually crashed into my own leg and collapsed in a jumbled mess. My dad always insisted that I could ride, but that I just wouldn’t practise enough. Determined to prove him wrong, I spent three hours practising one day. I emerged so bruised and battered that he had to give up on his dream of having a daughter who could ride. (He still teases me about not trying, though.) And you know what? Not once did I get a yellow jersey out of the deal! If falling off = yellow jersey, where’s mine? I felt so ripped off.
After spending an hour or two getting over my disappointment, though, I began to understand the basic difference between myself and Cadel Evans. He’s a skilled cyclist who fell off his bike once. I’m a committed pedestrian who has fallen off my bike so many times that staying on would be a surprise. I’d say that’s a pretty fundamental difference right there. After remembering that little fact, I was instantly over my jealousy, and would like to congratulate Evans for succeeding where I failed.