Today is the first day I biked all the way to work in a couple of weeks. I’ve been sick with a respiratory infection and every time I tried to exert myself I’d be attacked by a coughing fit that would leave my chest muscles stinging in pain and my lungs desperate for breath. I wasn’t really ready to ride yet today, but I had to start again sometime and with President Obama coming to town right on my commute route and the added congestion brought on by Pride festivities and various sporting events, I knew that taking the bus today would take twice as long as biking, or worse. Turns out it was a good decision. While traffic was light on my commute, I passed a steady string of cop cars, cop buses, and cop SUVs wrapped around The Westin and adjacent roads, Obama’s Seattle home base. People I met commuting just an hour after me, even those on the light rail, came in late. Obama doesn't even arrive until 3pm or so. 

Riding today can only be exclaimed in terms of molasses. I pedaled so slowly that the word passed by a though it were encased in dripping molasses. My tired, un-acclimated legs pushed through the air with a slow intention as though the air was made of molasses. My lungs pulled air in with a slow and ineffective intensity as though my esophagus was filled with molasses. The rain and clouds made the horizon look like it was behind a molasses filter. The cold in the air chilled my fingers and toes as though my blood flowed through me like molasses. My arms moved slowly, as though my body were filled with molasses. Molasses, everything molasses. I am glad I rode today, but I am hoping I start to feel better soon.

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