To ride clean right now is to lie to yourself, fake form you know deep inside isn't there and will not be for a long time. I am a liar, my rides already done since December are a farce, smoke and mirrors to quiet my head and ease my legs away from the ledge. Zoloft for the lazy, feckless winter rider. More miles could have been mine but I succumb to the draw of warmth and shelter. I had it all for the taking, instead I failed. Sunday calls for penance for the work I didn't do, the cold I couldn't take, the dedication I wanted. I wanted it that way maybe, I needed a cold winter to realize my errors, breathe in my weakness and smell more failure. Without that why keep going? If it came without time and effort would October feel as good? Would the blood in my throat be less sweet?