Things seemed to be much more noticeable when I rode. I enjoyed the feel of my wheels on creamy smooth asphalt and the sound resembling an expensive fan. Riding to college class, little kids looked at me from the back seat of their cars, waving as they drove by.
I had become, to use a phrase devised by the marketing consultancy Mintel, a Middle-Aged Man in Lycra (or MAMIL). It was an identifiable psychographic (broadsheet readers, Waitrose shoppers) and a reductive caricature brimming with condescension (we were vain, we were hopeless, we should just grow up already and get a BMW). Not all of that is untrue. -Tom Vanderbilt, The Long and Winding Road
I haven’t clocked a century (100 miles) or even a half-century on a bike, but I’ve experienced running ten miles during a cross-country training session twenty one years ago. I still remember it. Normally a busy brain, my mind slowly focused on the task a hand: struggling to keep myself upright as lactic acid starts to flow into my muscles on the run.
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