drwex (drwex) wrote,

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I still hate hills

The Scene: somewhere on the back roads near my workplace. I am by myself.

"Gods I hate hills."

"What? You're in the granniest of granny gears and this is a gentle up-slope."

"I still hate hills."

"It's barely an 8% grade, if that, and the total rise is like 100 feet. Max. Probably less."

"My legs are on fire."

"Well, it doesn't help that you're wearing jeans and clunky sneakers."

"If I had to stop and change you know I'd never get up the oomph. Not to mention changing back into this when I'm already sweaty?"

"You're right, not gonna happen. Keep pedaling, we're almost to the top. There, see? Downhill."

"I'm going to pay for this on the way back."


"Realist. Let's try going that way this time. I want to see if it goes through."

"OK. But that's a dead end up there."

"Well, I guess it doesn't go through."

"No, you just managed to get lost. In the space of four blocks."

"Shut up. I know where I missed the turn. Oh gods, it's all downhill. Getting back is going to kill me."

"At least we know it goes through. Let's head back."

"I'm dying here. It's 83 degrees and probably 80% humidity. Maybe I'll just get off and walk the bike."

"No! Don't do that! You know once you get off it'll be twice as hard to get back on. Just keep pedaling."

"I think I'm having a heart attack."

"You're not having a heart attack."

"I am!"

"Does your chest hurt?"

"More than the rest of me? No."

"Shooting pains?"


"Pain down your arm?"


"You're not having a heart attack. Quit whining and pedal."

"I'm too old for this. I just want to curl up in a ball."

"You're only 51 and planning to live a lot longer. Is that how you want to spend the next couple decades of your life?"

"I dunno, is it air conditioned?"


"I mean, do I get to spend the next couple decades curled up into a comfortably air conditioned ball?"

"There's air conditioning at your office."

"...which is several more hills away."

"Look, you have it easy. You could be a farm worker out in the sun all day."

"My parents and I paid a lot of money..."

(in chorus) "Privilege!"

"If you'd been born a tribesman in Africa you'd be running around barefoot in the sun."

"Do you know what their life expectancy was? Fifty years, I read. Hey! A nice cool breeze."

"Um, yeah, about that. Did you notice how the clouds are darkening? I think it's going to rain."

"What? Can't you just let me enjoy something as simple as a cool breeze?"

"Well, I think you'd look kind of funny walking into your office soaking wet. Not to mention sitting there dripping on your desk."

"Shut up and help me pedal."

"Gods I hate hills."

(with a tip of the hat to Bud Abbot and Lou Costello.)


Yes, the inside of my head really is like this. All. The. Time. I'm not just all the conversation participants, I'm the chorus and the audience and the guy waving his hands and yelling "Guys! Guys! There's someone out here trying to talk to us; shouldn't we, like, pay attention to that?"

And I'm also the guy planning the LJ entry while it's all going on.
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