I was struck with deja vu. I knew that I knew the scent from somewhere. Cinnamon buns? Pumpkin scones? Something seasonal?

I got it: the body gel Tammie's mom sent us smells like Dunkin' Donuts.

The windshield looked like it was sparkling in the rain. It was almost as if someone was sprinkling glitter from the roof and it was real distracting.

It took me a while to deduce that it was due to a water-proof coating from the car wash. The impact of the drops mixed with oncoming headlamps made the unnatural visual effect. It was really difficult to look past, like trying to drive with a Swarovski-adorned windshield.

People actually like driving with this?

Does one even bother to pack sunglasses for a trip to Seattle?

My last doctor assumed it was a spinal problem aggravating my sciatic nerve. If it didn't clear on its own, he recommended doing an MRI to see if I needed back surgery. In the mean time he referred me to a physical therapist. The PT... well, all he said was "Don't slouch" and "The body has a way of working things out."

Eleven months later, I decided to try someone new: a doctor of osteopathic medicine who specialized in sports medicine. He manipulated my bad leg into strange, new positions that made it tingle as if it had fallen asleep.

That confirmed that my piriformis muscle had a spasm and repositioned itself tightly around my sciatic nerve. It may even have hardened or developed scars. I'm supposed to stretch it lightly for a month, and if that isn't enough, there are needles he can break up the scarring with.

The pain now has a name: Piriformis Syndrome. It's supposed to be common among cyclists. The lesson: don't take stretching for granted.

"It's two fifty-five for three doughnuts," the cashier declared, "You can get six for three dollars."

"No thanks," I replied after a moment of deliberation.

"Are you sure?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes," I confirmed, "I don't need six doughnuts. I mean, just look at me." I squeezed my gut for effect.

"Okay," she replied, in the tone of your loss.

What's the point of a timing chip if we have to pin numbers on anyways?

Not like it mattered; started in order of registration (very back for me) and three minutes into the race, a guy looses momentum in the mud, looks around, and picks my handlebars to grab and land on. He took off without so much as an acknowledgement, I was left with my bars turned 45 degrees. Lost all the spots I had made. Pulled my back trying to straighten it.

Okay, 5 am is earlier than I thought. We oversleeped.