Like a Pig

This year, I'm not waiting until July to get acclimatized to the summer. I watched the war of attrition at Manville last year, and I slid on melting tarmac at Somerville. Granogue baked me, and French Creek was a stir fry.

Not this year, man, not this year.

It's been 50 degrees, more or less, for weeks now. I've been dressing like it's 30. Long sleeves, multiple base layers, tights, wool socks, winter gloves, sometimes even ear warmers.

Yesterday, I dressed as usual, nice and toasty. The air got warmer and warmer, and the sun peeked out from behind rapidly-diminishing clouds. Everything looked more vibrant; the river, the trees.

When I got home, it was 70. I had drank a lot of water.

Hopefully, by May I'll be ready to race in the heat. Until then, I'll be pouring sweat every time I ride.

Hence, the title of the post. It's clever, you see: I'm sweating like a pig... but also, I'm happy like a pig in shit. It works on so many levels! Two!