Choose no money. Choose no career. Choose shaven legs.
Choose a fucking expensive bike, choose titanium and
carbon fibre, spandex and lycra, and crappy health food.
Choose no skin. Choose stiches and bandages. Choose long
hospital stays and longer training hours and wondering
why the fuck you aren't sleeping in on Saturday morning.
Choose sitting on that butt-numbing, ball-crushing torture
implement called the seat, chugging gatorade and stuffing
protein bars into your mouth. Choose a bike that costs more
than your crappy car. Choose farmer tan and raccoon face
in January from pedalling your brains out for 5 hours on a
Sunday.
Choose your future.
Choose professional biking.
Adapted from the introduction to Trainspotting.
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