Stationary Bikes and Ceiling Fans

I sit here, leaned back in this plush leather reclining chair,
staring at the ceiling fan rotating above me, its five blades whirling around
like spokes on the wheel of a stationary bike. And I think to myself, my brain
feels like that right about now. So calm on the outside — even in its movement,
tranquil and unruffled — but inside its motor is spinning around and around like crazy.
At times, this period before the Race seems torturous. Its like spending a week
and a half in the waiting room before going into the operating room and getting
sliced open. Waiting rooms always try to be welcoming and pleasant…but…we know
deep down, past the magazines and predictable hackneyed paintings, it is a
sterile box where the only thing we can do is mull over again and again what has happened, what might happen, and why
things are the way they are. And deep down, past my visits to relatives, trips to REI, and
relaxing at home, deep down I know this
is that sterile box. And I am mulling over what has happened, what might
happen, and why things are the way
they are. I am thinking about that operating table that I will lie down on come
October 6, and the 11 month surgery that will follow – on my heart, my brain,
my feet, and my hands. I reflect on my present condition, and peer into my
future one…though through

a glass dimly.