Reached for the indoor long trousers this morning. Stared at them, they probably need to be washed, and the ethers are alive with that set of adverts that suggest the approach of the festive season, an appalling violation on a Sunday Morning. "Are we ready to do this Peloton!" It's a girl voice and she sounds very determined in an unnaturally excited way, somewhere between le climax and le concours, if you'll excuse the French. Dread to think who or what Peloton might be, but fairly convinced he, she or it is entirely unnecessary. Last Fall is mostly gone from my own memory, but I do recall raking leaves and being driven to such distraction by "Are we ready to do this Peloton!" that I had to switch off the technical device, which for those of us who have the addiction isn't easy to do. Then in March or May of this year, a long winter it was, "Are we ready to do this Peloton!" finally disappeared and I have known a degree of inner peace for getting on six months.
It might be easier if I just went ahead and found out what or who Peloton is, but I'd call that an abject surrender. The whole point about "Are you ready for this Peloton!" is to drag you into Hades, down deep into the machinations of the Devil's own, where you creep around staring at last year's food stains on your indoor trousers wondering whether Peloton washes clothes as you slowly become an imbecile. "Harsh?" of course it's harsh, very harsh indeed, it needs to be, we're not talking Karoo Class Locomotives and milk chocolate bars, we're talking Peloton, a canoe ride down the Styx River, it's the contract with its promise that devours your soul leaves you wretched and drowning. Zeus swore an oath on the River Styx that one of his lovers would have everything she ever wanted, too late Zeus realized his oath would result in her death. Triumph and Disaster, "treat these two impostors the same," Kipling wisely quoted Shakespeare in his poem "If."