Forgive me, Lord Armstrong

Forgive me, Lord Armstrong, keeper of the yellow jersey, for I have sinned.

My training had cometh to a halt.

Oh, despite thine example of will and perseverance,
I succumbed to the evil comforts aplenty.

The comfort of the soft couch in my living quarters,
The seductive lure of a television,
The taunt from a witch doctor,
The torturous demands of "the man,"
The decadence of me lady's cooking,
The volumous cries of a daughter for her father.

Forget the atrophy that has descended upon my body. I must equally battle the atrophy that has affected my soul.

For one fortnight and one half I withered mentally,
while physically I continued to swell,
despair had infected me, and I was swayed to believe failure was my destiny.

Alas, eight nights ago, I witnessed a sight so hideous, I almost heaved.
I mounted a scale, and saw numbers with such elevation, I thought it was it was my social insurance number.

From anguish has come vigour, a renewal of my providence,
an amplification of my dedication.

There is but 10 weeks to complete my redemption, and I shall relish the challenge.

In my masochistic ways, I have already subjected mine self to two sessions of physical persecution (spin classes), and have taken advantage of sunny days, sunny days, sunny days with two journey's atop me two wheeled apparatus (the road bike I borrowed from Carolyn).

I pledge to you, Lord Armstrong, to never divert from thine path ever again.

Maybe.

All I ask, my Lord, is that you command your disciples to reach deep into their spirits and bequeath but a few notes of currency to support the Princess Margaret Hospital slay the biggest dragon of them all.

Time is running out! Please click on the link above and donate!