There are no miracles. No freak victories. No God given genetic favours you can call on. You are all together devouring pavement like a whirring hurricane, yet you are all alone. Only you. Containing pain in a poker faced grimace so that others can't profit from it. Clenching your teeth. Holding strong when reason tells you to let go. The endless monologue rattling through your brain, coaxing you through it, striking deals with your legs. In this most circular pursuit everything always comes back to the beginning. Infinite. Hour upon hour given to the marginal victories of improvement. A little bit better than last week. The mind always tries to complicate, but the road to success is so enduringly simple. Just keep pedalling.

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