Have you ever noticed how some people are always fucking getting ready? But they’re never ready. I got a buddy always wants to race but it’s like, not this weekend, I’m not quite ready and shit. What’s up with that?
One of the greatest blues heavies of all time did an album called “Getting Ready.” The irony is that Freddie King was already the fuck ready. He took another drag on the cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray, plugged in the fucking guitar and laid down some immortal fucking tracks.
“Getting ready” doesn’t mean waiting until you’re perfectly fit, on the upside of the power peak but not over it, at the ideal weight, have the right amount of base miles, completed enough training rides, logged enough hours going around the trees and hopping aboard without racking your nuts.
That shit’s not “getting ready.” It’s putting shit off because you’re a chickendick wanker. So tell your buddy to pay the entry fee, pin on a fucking number, and toe the line. “Almost ready” is “never.”
I’ve wanted to do bicycle racing all year. But I’m a triathlete. We sign up for stuff like a year in advance. Most of the bikers I know don’t decide if they’re going to do a race until the morning of, usually after checking the weather report or calling around to see who else is going. “Early planners” might make up their mind the night before. WTF?? I’m more methodical than that and need time to get ready physically and emotionally. Help!
How long does it take you to whip off your underwear and straddle your man after a night of fine wine, fine dining, and a new pair of crotchless panties?
That’s how long it should take you to “physically and emotionally” be ready for a bike race.
Thorough preparation is key. It is highly irresponsible of you to suggest that people simply “line up and race.” Down that path lie injury and madness. Especially since your readers tend to be older, rash decisionmaking without a solid base of fundamentals is reckless. You should be ashamed. Preparation + Dedication = Readiness. Memorize the formula, please.
Internet Coach Bill
Wankmeister is indeed ashamed, but it’s because of some indiscreet photos that are floating around on the Internet that purport to show me in a chicken suit butt chugging wine from a box. My readers are of all ages, and are already well down the path to madness. Racing their bike will only get them a tad more quickly to the money shot, which is explaining to friends and neighbors why they’re in traction after trying to do what the neighbors call “riding your bicycle and winning a prize.”
Don’t worry, though. Your scam where you bleed insecure wankers dry with exorbitant training plans over a multi-year period so that they can be “ready” for their first race is safe with me.
I’ve never done ‘cross, but it looks fun. I’ve actually never even done a normal bike race, but I borrowed a pal’s bike and rode it a couple of times up and down the driveway. Am I ready to enter the next race in the SoCal Cross Prestige Series?
I’m sorry but your philosphy is stuppid. If your not ready your not ready and the only way to know your ready is having everything be ready your fitness and bike and the right course etcetarra. Jumping in before the gun has cocked will get you a stitch or nine in no time.
“Ready” never happens in bike racing, although I understand that in the country music business during the early part of your career every dude with $20 and a back seat did in fact get Reddy.
Something’s always all fucked up in bike racing. You’re sick, you’re fat, you’re a newbie, you’re creaky, the field is too fast, the course is too hilly or not hilly enough or too technical or too long or not good for a rouleurspruntertimetrialistclimber like you, your equipment sucks, whateverthefuck it is, you’re never ready.
General George B. McClellan wasn’t ready, either, when he marched his stupid fucking Army of the Republic around in circles while Robert E. Lee tore the Union a new asshole because even though he had the men, the materiele, the plans, and every military advantage known to mass killing, McClellan was missing the integral part.
Same with Hooker and all the other yahoos until Grant came along. Grant wasn’t ever fucking ready. He just whiskeyed up every morning and marched forward until he cleaned up the nasty nest of racist, slaving, buttfuck Southerners like a wasp’s nest going into the maw of an industrial ShopVac.
He didn’t slap down the rebellion because he was ready. He slapped it down because he moved his armies into position and started killing people.
There’s a message there for you somewhere. Go dig it out.
I once read that “ready” is the enemy of “do.” What does that mean?
It means you should quit preparing, which is just another word for “excusifying,” which probably isn’t even a word.
Come out for the race on Sunday. So what if you’re scared and unfit and wet behind the ears? So is half the fucking field.
What you’ll find out is what people find out the world over when they finally throw a leg over and roll out from the start line: You’re as ready now as you’ll ever be, and the corollary, you’re also as ready as you’ll ever need to be.