salty sweat from my own brow ( which is technically piss ). I ’ m rapidly losing touch with reality . Reality ? Who am I kidding , that was never a thing . There is only the track ; whatever reality is or is not – it is the track , and only the track right now .
My arms and back have nothing left to give as I try to lift the bike once again . It feels like the muscles in my back are ready to tear . I desperately need water , nourishment , and rest . I still have an hour to ride through who knows what . My lungs and heart are also ready to give out , like an overcooked meal sitting in a hot oven , baking into carbon dust . I can ’ t see through the sweat pouring in my eyes . Where is it coming from ? There is no liquid in me anymore . My brain is not thinking of anything but this track , to the detriment of everything else , physically , and mentally .
If there was a balance to the day , it has deserted me . I feel like a soldier in a war , staring bloody defeat in the face . This hill of despair . This small tract of land that breaks dreams .
I wave to reality as it leaves me , and drift deep into my subconsciousness .
I wonder where I am . I know it ’ s Italy , but where exactly ? I wonder what I would be doing if I wasn ’ t here . Why couldn ’ t I just be happy sitting on a couch , eating snacks and watching TV ? Why am I not like other people I know ? What brings me to do these things ? I wonder what ’ s happening at work . I wonder about everything
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