Exercise in Futility?

I was in a mind-numbing business meeting the other day, and I Tweeted that I was in the throes of an "Exercise in Futility." That phrase stuck with me for the past couple of days, not only in reference to what was happening at work, but to life in general...

This is not me. Would that it were...

For example, those who read this blog and read about all the rides that I participate in, etc, but have never met me in person may be deceived into believing that I am visibly as fit as Kristin Armstrong. It should be noted that the only similarity that I have to this incredible athlete is that we are both blonde, Caucasian, American, and enjoy riding a bike. Yep, that's about it.

Doppelgänger

In truth, I resemble the Stay Puft Man more closely than Kristin.

Without sounding like I'm throwing myself a "pity party" here, I've got a thyroid condition that has rendered my metabolism to smithereens, and my back is still giving me grief. One of my greatest fears is that when the Madone that I won from RadioShack this past December (which is being built up as we speak) will break under me before I have the chance to clip my other foot in!

My only solace is that, despite a girth that would make a Sumo wrestler jealous, without looking at the "weight" columns, my blood work and lab results show good health.

That being said, it's incredibly frustrating to spin wheels and go nowhere.

So, as the 2010-2011 Ice Age comes to an end (that rodent DID see his shadow, right), and the roads are nearly clear enough that I can start commuting to and from work in safety, is all of this an exercise in futility? What's the end game like?

Of course, I'd like nothing else than to have Bar Rafaeli's figure at the end of the day and an entire peloton of admirers following me wherever I ride - on and off road.

A girl can dream, no?

In reality, no matter how crappy I feel that I look in my kit, how many times my thighs rub against each other as I pedal each stroke, I know what the end game is.

Keep rolling along and fighting for those who can't.

As much as my vanity and pride detest being subjected to near-nudity in skin-tight spandex, it's not futile.

Ride on. LIVESTRONG.