And right at the end, his hopes are dashed

So I am riding my bike to school this morning and I am on pace to shatter my personal record by about three minutes and I am feeling pretty confident in myself. I am primed for this moment. I am in stride. My legs are pumping furiously; I’m channeling my best Lance Armstrong (sans steroids controversy) and the wind is whipping past my ears. In my head I am wondering about how I should throw my arms over my head in celebration. Is tilting the head-back and crying in exhaustion and pure joy overkill? My smile is huge and I wave to every other biker I pass. Random quotes that have nothing in particular to do with the ride keep popping into my head.

“We’ll just live off the fat of the land.”

“Keep your head down and your nose clean, boy, and you’ll do alright.”

“I’ll never go hungry again!”

Finally I sweep effortlessly into the turning lane in front of the university and as I am balancing on my two wheels (look at me, I can balance stationary on two wheels) and waiting for a break in the traffic to turn into the university I begin to lean a little too far to the left. Frantically I pull my feet from the pedal straps but they are in there too tight. I convulse and tip past the point of return. I clatter onto the pavement and cars honk as they pass me by in the equivalent of school kids pointing and sniggering at the poor kid who just tipped his tray too far up and spilled sloppy joe on his white sneakers.

I missed my record time by a couple measly seconds.