Biking. I love biking. Specifically mountain biking, not road biking. I can’t pull off the Spandex look. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much time to bike since I bought a farm this May. But more on the money pit, a.k.a The Farm later. On Saturday I went on the “Butter Knife Trail” with my good friends Jess and Greg. Two miles into the trek Greg broke his bike and had to go back. I felt bad for Greg and was tempted to leave with him; honestly I wasn’t feeling all that great. Maybe it was the cheese quesadilla’s that I’ve been eating at 10 o’clock every night for the last six months. I’ve ridden this trail numerous times but my gap in training was really affecting me. It was blistering 98 degrees, not a trace of wind, and deodorant that was begging for a second application. 14 miles in I started to cramp. Bad. I had to rest. My muscles felt like jelly, my breathing was sporadic and for a moment I thought I might be having a heart attack. I hopped back on my bike and managed exactly 100 feet before the heart palpations started again. After pounding on my chest a few times and contemplating my diet over the last few months, I started to feel better and was convinced I could handle this. I mustered up all my strength to finish the last four miles, which were at a steep incline. I managed another 100 feet and had to sit down, it was at an angle that most people would call “laying down.” Defeated. The Butter Knife had gotten the better of me. Jess looked for vital signs and found that I was mostly alive and it was time to go. Not to be a man of pride, I resigned to my loss. Jess, being the handsome, burley, tough man he is, put me on his back and dragged our bikes behind him…At least that’s what he tells people.