Its just plain rude to put someone on the spot ordinarily.
However, asking them something as intimate as this is cruel.
What do I like to do for fun?
I like to ski.
Well its July, what do you like to do in the summer.
Oh you fucking foul breed of devil.
The depressing part about this forced revelation is not the fact that you realize how lazy you are.
No, Im satisfied with my lazy ass.
The problem is that when I was a kid I spent every available moment outside.
Sure, I played my share of Mario Kart and spent eight hours battling my friends in Goldeneye.
The lions share of time, however, was spent on anything that would quickly earn me an injury.
Pogo sticks and pogo balls.
Pogo balls you ask?
My point is that when no one was asking this question, I had answers ready to fire off.
One year ago, I participated in a Denver event called, Ride to Work Day.
I did it half-assed and my heart wasnt in it.
I got something in my head that I was going to start biking.
True to my fashion, I latched onto the most materialistic part of this new endeavor.
If I was going to start riding this bike, it needed to be worthy of me riding it.
So I dropped $100 on Amazon and stripped the bike down to frame and fork.
I sanded her down, painted her matte black, and rebuilt her with all new components.
Of course, I threw on the obligatory NS sticker.
This whole process got me prepped for this years Ride to Work Day.
I was fucking pumped.
I was going to ride to work and back home.
Id get some exercise, and more importantly keep myself young and adventurous like I once was.
Unlike the first time I rode this bike, my 2014 ride was as smooth as butter.
I pretty much knew exactly what I was getting myself into with the ride to work.
I had already done it once and knew it was cakesauce.
So freakin chyll I could snap a mid-ride selfie and affirm myself as still being a young gun.
So now Im a little worried about what kind of rough ride Im in for on the ride home.
No, fuck that.
I run damn near 30 miles a week and Im still in my 20s dag nabbit.
Who gives a rats ass if its a little bit rougher on the way home.
Ill slay that leg just as brutally as Ive slain this leg.
One day of work passes.
I get my bike off the rack, pack up my lock, an walk over to the street.
One leg swings over and fits snugly into my pedal strap.
I rotate the crank in reverse to get my strapped in pedal up higher.
I damn near fell off the bike.
Luckily I hadnt fit my second foot into the strap or I would have.
I reach my hand around and gently push on the two bones at the cleft of my butt cheeks.
I approach this situation much like I considered my previous concerns about the uphill, albeit a little reluctantly.
This shit wont stop me.
Im back on the bike now and maybe a mile or two into my ride.
This will be good.
I wait for my window, pedal harder, call out On your left, and accelerate past them.
It takes about four seconds before I hear a variety of scoffs, coughs, and sniggers.
I clearly make out the sassiest Reeeaaally??
Ive ever heard a grown white man muster.
It was the sass that made me sneak a peek at what these guys fronts looked like.
Im pretty sure I found Mr. Sassy.
I know a gang when I see one, so I just kept my head down.
Things go smoothly for about two more miles after that.
It is then that my worst fears are confirmed.
My pace slows, my breath quickens, and my sweat increases.
Time goes on and the hills seem to continue.
Smug bastards with their clicking derailleurs and water bottle cages.
Careless Target and your cost-cutting measures of excluding a water bottle cage.
Hills are hills and after seven miles or so of them, I finally made it home.
I began this mission with the hope that I would re-capture my youth.
I wanted to make myself feel better about the fact that I dont do anything for fun.
Maybe all of the people who have good answers to that question are lying.
