Fiction Story

The years rolled by, faster than expected, just like how everyone says it does. The feeling of the wind on your face and the painful sensation of your muscles burning was something you had become quite accustomed to. Yet it never grows old, it is a welcomed moment at the start of the mornings and the middle of the afternoons, and today was just another one of those days. It is Mid-April, spring time is blooming and the races have been in session for a few months already and everyone around you seems to be in good physical condition, just like yourself. Today was just another one of those days, rolling out of bed never gets any easier yet you drag yourself out and stumble towards the bathroom sink. No matter how many times you splash water on your face, it still seems as if another 5 hours of sleep would be so nice. The morning rolls on, dressed and on your way to school, the five minute drive seems to pass by too quickly. The class setting is as uncomfortably comfortable as ever, copy down the notes on the board, answer some questions, don’t fall asleep, turn in the homework and pay attention, don’t fall asleep. Classroom to classroom this seems to be the identical pattern, even though the typical school event might come up from time to time, looking back at the months they all seem to blend together into one immense brightly lit mush of papers, pens and tests. Eventually the eight hours are up, onto part two of the day and you find yourself back in your car, this time it takes longer than 5 minutes to reach your destination. With the bike sitting on the back and the rest of your kit taking up space in the front seat, you let the streets pass by. Fast forward an hour from there, that fresh salty breeze hits you again, with the 5’ o clock sun forming a strange silhouette out of you onto the pavement, you realize, you wouldn’t want to be doing anything else right then and there. The pain kicks in again, the sprints make your legs feel hot, the lactic acid build up is in full effect and won’t go away for another few hours, miles accumulate, smiles do too as large part of this is completed alongside your teammates. Everyone is there pushing each other, keeping track of the laps and times, but too many jokes are made along the way to feel the pressure, that is until training is finished and you all join in by your coach. His carefree sly smile evaporates into the air, a serious expression is etched upon his features. There’s a big race this weekend, in just 3 days he explains, in a way that if an absolute stranger was listening in, it would seem almost as if it was unexpected news, yet it was the complete opposite, every one of you knew about the race that weekend, and every one of you was expected to perform and bring home results. All the helmets move up and down at the same time, nodding a subtle yes in union, they all knew exactly what they needed to do, and most of all, what you had to do. The sensation of pressure was crowned upon your head again and you had no idea how to deal with it. Everything falls on you. Everyone expects greatness and you don’t know if you have it in you, confidence is vital right now, even if you need to fake it, nobody needs to know the thousand insecurities circling your head. All of these thoughts occupy your mind on the way home, there is nothing you can do to promise yourself a podium position this Sunday, nothing is 100% for sure until the moment is there. But that’s it, there really is nothing you can do at this point except hope that the past weeks, months, years of training have been enough, or is there? The question arises as one of your old teammates from your past team sends you a message that night. You ponder over the screen of your cellphone wondering why he would text you so randomly, you and him always got along, sometimes even called each other friends, but since you left their team, neither of you prevented the inevitable drift away and aside from the annual Happy Birthday text there was nothing else to it .You come back into focus and open the text, “Are you racing this weekend?”, a short reply “yes” seemed sufficient yet you added a “how about you?”. What came up next was completely unexpected, he was offering help, but the type of help you buy and you take before. Doping has been marking cycling for decades, taking some of the best athletes to the top only to drag them down after one unlucky test result, crumbling their reputation, and the titles attained, is it worth the risk? Seems as if half of his team was on some new product coming from Colombia, and it was being kept well under wraps. You sit on the edge of your bed staring into the white wall, hoping that the answer of what to do would just magically submerge from below the paint, but it doesn’t. It’s just you and your consciousness, on one side, it gives you that extra edge that could take you to first without a doubt, the sound of praise starts to ring in the background, all the proud smiles and congratulations, seems so easy, buy it, take it, win it, what even was the chances of getting tested, is