This post can be thought of as Part II to ‘When I Get Carried Away.’ 

I was writing that one and had some ‘stuff’ going on in the back of my head. 

It happened yesterday. 

On the track. 

Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, aka ‘CGV.’ 

I was doing my thing. 

I don’t know what lap I was on. 

To not know what lap I am on is my goal. 

I usually lose track around three. 

‘Was that three or four?’ 

Then I am all in. 

I pay attention to the signs. 

The signs that tell me when enough is enough, make the next lap your last one. 

Haha, I always end up doing one more than that. 

But the breathing thing. 

I get into my world. 

A world that involves no talking. 

If I talk, it messes up my symphony of breathing. 

I mean, I say, ’Hi,’ ‘Salut,’ or ‘Bonjour.’ 

I do not say more than that. 

I don’t want to start a conversation. 

Not here. 

Not there. 

Then the ‘problem’ arises. 

For the remaining laps, all I think about is that person thinking I am rude. 

Argh. 

You see? 

I have two personalities. 

‘TJ’ rides. 

‘Timothy,’ talks. 

People meet ‘TJ’ while riding. 

But the Timothy, the Timothy that is not on his bike, is the one I want them to meet. 

Timothy, the one that does not shut up. 

‘…The one who apologizes for TJ.’ 

Insert megaphone emoji here. 

‘There is another way to ride.’