Pain is not just a song I really like by The War on Drugs
It even LOOKS like something you don't want to injure. On September 5th last year, I was in pain. As I strained up the final climb of a grueling, 100-mile bike race, my hamstrings spasmed and snapped like they were being lashed, and my quadriceps throbbed from a buildup of lactic acid; it felt as though they were being pounded by a ballpeen hammer. I just wanted the race to end, but it would never end unless I kept turning that crankarm over, every rotation getting me closer to the finish line in Sun Valley. On March 4th of of this year, that day on the bike in Rebecca’s Private Idaho felt as pleasurable as patio beers on a cool spring evening. On this particular morning, the simple motion of rolling out of bed caused my left glute to erupt in flames. After struggling just to sit on the edge of the bed and plant both feet on the floor, I attempted to raise myself to a standing position. Lightning bolts tore down my left leg. I collapsed backward. My pain gauge underwent a seism
