“I’m fed-up and I feel like quitting,” were the words one professional cyclist used to describe his mindset as he faces the 2016 cycling season. He later received praise from his peers for his sheer, mind-shattering honesty.
“Whew! I’m so glad someone finally spoke the truth,” said another. “It’s just climb, climb, climb all day long. You can’t stop. At some point, you’ve got to ask yourself what the hell you’re doing. I mean, come on people, Nascar doesn’t even have hills and those cars are pushing, what, around 900 horse power? They should have to use Fred Flintstone cars. Anybody can mash on a gas pedal, but it would take a real athlete to complete a Daytona 500 in a bare foot powered race car.”
Even one washed up, disillusioned past competitor, banned from professional cycling competition for engaging in the illegal performance enhancing practice of doping, came forward to voice an opinion. ” I’ll admit, when I’m all EPO-ed up and feeling good, I’ve got better things to do than spend a month pedaling my skinny ass up one hill, then another, then another, always having to bully everyone out of my way. Now, it’s all downhill for me.”
“Fed-up” also garnered support from athletes as far departed from cycling as the NFL. “I kind of understand where this guy is coming from,” said one offensive lineman. “Whenever I prepare to ram myself head-first into an opponent, using my ridiculous strength, I think, hey, this could maybe damage my brain, but then I say, shut-up head, then I give it my all and smash my helmet into someone as hard as possible–over, and over, and over again. I Mean, that’s my life, just smashing into people…with my head.”
With the Tour de France looming in the distance, and I’m fed up and I feel like quitting threatening to reach mantra status, cycling authorities fearing the worst have been busy slamming their heads together attempting to quell the “no climb” uprising, and are proposing to relocate the world-famous cycling competition from the picturesque setting of Europe, to the flat, bland, near-constant gale force wind, sand blown not-a-hill-in-sight plains of Lubbock Texas.
After all, who the hell wants to pedal a freaking bicycle uphill for mile after mile after mile.
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