Some say cross is dead, nil.
Canceled. Reeling and reeking of an ugly stench. A disgusting beast, of swill, drooling, machoistic, the soul of the most honest to the bone internal self-abuse every invented.
I find it comes easy, and to me, quite normal. And from the first pedal stroke, my heart rate is beating as hard and as fast as it can. I steer a bit wide into this corner and punch it quick to pass on this small patch of dirt.
Cross is a conscription. Cross looks easy and fast, as I watch others race. Cross is a family, after your first race. It is a secret handshake, a beer clandestinely poured into a Dunkin' Doughnuts cup.
Cross is hard nipples in the cold for everyone.
white lips, pruned toes
Truth be told, it is just another check box of a world of extracurricular actives to choose from.
I can't give it up.
and right now I am dreaming of the times when I "was fast" fitter, thinner, naive.
Dreaming again of standing atop the top box.
but for now,
and who knows, how forever long, I'll be chasing you
chasing you to the line.
Cheers!
dlowe
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