It's not that my track bike has dust on it from last September. I actually added a few nicks and dings to its frame a few weeks ago thanks to my superwoman flight. My left knee still boasts a bright pink patch of new skin. My tattered ego and hesitant jump have been beat into submission since then with multiple hard efforts out on the track. So that shouldn't be a problem.
My race wheels still sit in their traveling case when they were lasted used in Argentina by Guy. And like I mentioned before, my Master Nationals numbers are still pinned to one of my skin suits.
Tonight, for the first time since last September, I'm going to race. I'm racing despite the fact that my number one fan won't be riding out to meet me to get drunk in corner two from lack of food and strong IPA. I'm racing despite my lack of fitness. I'm racing to feel adrenaline pump through my body again, to feel alive. I'm racing to get my body back in excellent shape and chase my passion again.