After eight years in football, I left the game. My football career was done. But soccer continues to torment me, so much so that this weekend I decided to sign up for a new and extremely intensive one-day class, Cycling High Performance.
This isn’t the normal kind of cycling class you might normally take; it’s one of the only classes of its kind, and it requires pedaling in heels and skin-tight soccer cleats. And you better bring a pair of those gloves you wear to soccer, too. And your public transportation pass and your money. And 100 of your closest friends and family, most of whom are dumb, some of whom are evil, and all of whom seem to want nothing more than to mock your commitment to this program.
I didn’t know exactly what to expect from the class, but I knew I wanted to be involved.
Can I trust the lessons taught in this class, leading up to the State Championships at the end of September? This weekend, the class I am in will be taught by my friend and teammate Ellen’s dad, Scott, who used to go to this kind of class in high school. The class is about two hours of endurance and focus.
We will ride 2 miles up and down around the Arlington Reservoir. We will run our laps for eight, ten, or twenty minutes, just like that. We will stop at 3 miles, and talk. We will roll on our feet, facing the sunshine. We will go through the practice and begin the season at 7 p.m. sharp, even with thunder, lightning, and rain falling outside. We’ll wear bike shorts.
We will paint the town red.
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