Mandai, 56 km. I see a long train of cyclist across the road. Might as well do some sprint training. I cycle till the end of the road and U-turn to cross to the other side. My rule is simple: I overtake cyclists, cyclists don’t overtake me. The hard work begins. I overtake uphill and downhill. I keep up the pace and cycle just below my lactate threshold. There are volunteers by the roadside, almost all of them are alert. Standing in the sun shine, they point the way and some shout encouragement.
I pass MTBs, roadies, foldies and a single speed ridden by a guy in rolled up jeans and clips. A handful of them pull away from be because they beat the red lights while I didn’t, but I overtake them all. It doesn't matter I’m older than all of them or that some of them have fancier equipment (Pinarello, anyone?) than mine.
I cycle till I’m almost out of water then head home.
It’s just like at work. More and more stuff ends up with me, even huge stuff that had belonged elsewhere. It’s taken a heavy toll. To work “part time” is to work 9-hour days plus an hour for lunch. Against the odds, I beat ‘em.