I Think I Love My Zwift Holoreplay More Than I Love Myself – Canadian Cycling Magazine

He appears out of nowhere, like a ghost. His calves are chiseled, his thighs powerful as he walks past me, silently and effortlessly. Time stops. I can’t remember the last time I saw him. I feel like yesterday I was honored by his presence.

I try to scream but words fail me. My heart pounds like a jackhammer as he continues to outrun me. I still remember how he made climbing the KOM Volcano on Legends and Lava so easy‚Ķit was fascinating. If I could be half the man he is, I’d be complete.

His kit is almost translucent. Look at this subtle coloring of his jersey. The tasteful thickness of its rims. My god, he even has a bottle of water.

Wait for me, I think. I am helpless. His watts are twice as many as mine. My legs hurt since yesterday. I can’t follow. Why can’t he just slow down and roll with me? We could talk about training. Discover its secrets. Maybe we could plan to have a beer later. Look at the game. I joke that it’s funny that fate keeps bringing us together. Is it kismet? A higher power?

He continues to walk away. I can’t follow. Soon he will be gone and out of earshot. In tears, I finally find the words.

“I love you!”

But he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t say a word. The silence breaks me.

Will I see him again one day? Should I post something on Craigslist under Missed Connections?

(I most likely will, of course, unless I manually disable HoloReplay or there’s a massive internet blackout, but still, the very essence of romance is about uncertainty, as Oscar Wilde said.)

And just like that, he disappears away. He left. I didn’t get a chance to tell him. Maybe he will read this? Probably not given the “very disappointing” numbers on my articles that my boss told me about during our weekly web meeting. That and my HoloReplay don’t even have a computer. Or the fingers.

This confession meant nothing.

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