couch potato

This week I got two emails from the guys running the Dolomites Marathon, a grueling 140-km road bike race through the Dolomites with hardly a flat mile and endless climbs. I did this race last year; a friend organized a group to go and helped me get in. Apparently, it's not that easy. There are always more willing to ride than can be accommodated, even with 8500 spots.

The first email informed me that I was pre-registered, and if I wanted to keep my spot I'd have to tell them by this Friday. I have no intention of riding the marathon. My bike is one year older than last year, and already back then I wanted to throw it out because it was falling apart. It's my commuter beater now. I did not react to the email.

This morning, in the second email the organizers thank me for registering and confirm my participation. Do they know something I don't? Last year, I thought it was kind of crazy, driving 1000 miles to ride my bike for a day. Combined with a few days' vacation in the Switzerland and the Austrian Alps, it was just defensible. This year, from London, it'd be totally nuts. Let's not even mention the utter lack of preparation. No one seems to care I haven't ridden my bike in nine months.

What is it with people always assuming I'm active and sporty and need to exercise? It all started back in Salt Lake when my roommate took me mountain biking and then racing. I would have been content just sitting on my sofa eating ice-cream... Same thing in Grenoble. Everyone asked me if I was a cyclist and if I had already done this climb or that. How can I resist? Here in London, I even got talked into doing a marathon.

I like to say that I prefer lounging in my comfy chair reading books and writing my blog. But to be honest, after a short while I'd get restless and feel the urge to go out and run or cycle or play. I admit I'm not made for the couch after all, but I won't do the Dolomites marathon this year.