I also hate drivers.
I hate recreational cyclists.
And I especially hate cyclists out for a serious training ride.
I hate the blocks along 110th St. that are clotted with delivery trucks, taxis, livery cars, buses and other bicycles.
I hate the white SUV that, as I tentatively moved out into the middle lane to pass two stopped delivery trucks in the right-hand lane, pulled out of a parking spot on the other side of the street and made the first leg of its three-point turn right across where I was about to ride.
I hate pedestrians who cross against the light without looking either way.
I have an even more passionate hatred for the pedestrians in Central Park who cross against the light without even seeming to realize there is a light.
I hate the horse-drawn carriages because they are a nuisance.
I hate the pedicabs because they are an active menace.
I hate nice weather because it makes my cycling life miserable.
I hate the huge packs of tourist pedestrians in the park that take two cycles of a light to get everyone through.
I don't much like the group leader who tells his charges, as they cross, to watch out because lots of people will run the red light, but I have even less fondness for the cyclists who absolutely will not stop at a light even when a flood of pedestrians is streaming across.
I reserve a peculiar hatred for recreational cyclists who ride against the direction of traffic on the park road.
I am also not crazy about roller-bladers, skateboarders and people using arctic ski poles.
I hate it that I am still so nervous about riding in traffic.
I hate it that the ride from where I live to the park, though only 10 blocks, is so incredibly irksome.
I hate it that I still can't take in my stride the notion of riding my bike over the wretched GWB bike path.
I hate it that I am the kind of person who, when annoyed and upset, instead of shaking my fist and swearing at people instead has to fight a strong urge to burst into tears!
I hate it that I can see that in the end I am going to have to give in and get a driver's license so that I can get myself much further out of the city before I have to start riding.
I hate it that triathlon even has a bike leg!
I am now going to shower and eat lunch. We can hope this will put me into a better mood. I only rode 14 miles; the first two park loops were so distressing to me that I figured I'd better just go home and move on to the next part of my day. I will ride down to Chelsea Piers later to swim and possibly to go to yoga, whose soothing meditative effects seem called for.
I'm not really looking forward to the race on Saturday; my bike leg is going to be really slow, and it's supposed to be quite hot, which will certainly erode my enjoyment of the run leg. On the other hand, total time on bike is more valuable for training at this point than fast miles, so I will greet with equanimity the prospect of a very long slow ride, and I think it is fairly certain that the ride will be UTTER BLISS compared to the one I have had just now.