Not in this fucking lifetime.

To the scruffy haired man on the power assist bicycle:

"Thank you, it's nice to be admired."

There are defining moments in life.

• "Did she say yes?"
• "You're hired."
• "It's a boy."

They come in the natural order of things, rites of aging, milestones of maturity.

Markers that let you and everyone you know the gravity of the accomplish, the significance of the risk taken, the sincerity of joy interlacing the pain of desire.

To be striven for; they are a life's work.

BUT then, there are other moments of definition. Instants, where your true nature is shown.

Fractions of a second where stimulus from the outside world triggers a question, "Go or don't go."

And the answer is no less than the sum calculation of everything that you've been through up until that moment.

Who you are defines what you do and what you do defines who you are and for me that question came today.

As it flashed through my head, "you've never been passed by another cyclist on a solo Friday afternoon commute home, and you sure as shit aren't going to start now", I was already in motion.

Before I got to the profanity.

Before I understood what force had passed me by as I turned onto Johnson Street from State.

Before I could make out the scruffy haired scientist working on the prototype power assist rear wheel.

Before I even took another ujjayi breath, my legs began to pump thunder and my eyes bleed lightning and a single thought silenced all others:

"Not in this fucking lifetime."

Pedals turned, eye contact was made and before he could alter the course of inevitability I was passing him.

"Damn you're fast", is what he said, almost as if he had goaded me into the chase and the catch... just to see if I could do it. It was like poking a raptor with a stick just to see him eat the stick and you along with it.

As I flew down Johnson Street a glow of accomplishment surrounded everything in the blustery world.

I did it.

Life called on me and in a moment, I was engaged using every ounce of training, every drop of strength. Squeezing muscle, overriding pain, galloping over concrete and asphalt. Doing what I love. Today I was racing.

I defined who I am today...

And it turns out it's a guy that won't let a god damn bike with an engine pass him on the way home from work. I'm with Fabian on this one; man over machine.

And as for getting passed on the way home, I can still say: "Not in this fucking lifetime."

Fin.

www.sundaysmackdown.com