Twenty-four years of February 15ths tell a remarkably consistent story... I'm tired, I'm probably overdoing it, and I absolutely refuse to stop. Some things never change.
It started in 2001, juggling work-study and school, fueled by caffeine and "grit and the occasional snack attack." By 2007, I was still exhausted but riding strong, swearing I'd swap java jolts for zen moments. Spoiler: I didn't.
The mid-years brought peak cycling obsession. There was excitement about an epic stage race that had me giddy, followed immediately by coining the term "Pedal Punk" after a testosterone-fueled wager gone sideways. "Don't fight it, ride it!" became the mantra. Then came the 85-mile delirium ride where my heart rate monitor betrayed me, and I ended up "more dead to the world than a phone with 1% battery."
By 2011, the realization hit that not everyone wants to spend their entire life on a bike. Go figure. But the long way home through Bozeman's snowy paths? Still worth every pedal stroke.
The later years turned more reflective, from ranting about bureaucratic absurdity to contemplating how death changes perspective. Bruno the bison became a symbol of freedom frozen in time. And now, bigger concerns about democracy itself.
From academic circus performer to pedal punk to whatever I am now... the throughline is clear. Keep moving, question everything, and maybe, just maybe, get those chores done tomorrow.