The New Year is here, and with it comes parties, inebriation, regret and the making of resolutions. I do not resolve. That does not mean that I think of myself as perfect, in fact, it means just the opposite. I know that I have many terrible flaws, and limiting myself to just one resolution to try and take care of them all is unwise. My flaws need to be worked on diligently throughout the year, lest they get out of hand and my true terrible self bursts through my zip up cardigan and warm socks and turns into a green hulk of selfishness and impatience clad only in a pair of purple stretch Capri pants. (Why did the Hulk always end up in Capri pants? And I don’t think Mr. Banner went around in purple pants all the time either. Answer my letters, Mr. Lee!)

As a pretend bike racer, dwelling upon my flaws (the athletic ones at least, personality flaws often go unnoticed) is what I do. I sprint like a calico, I attack like a tabby and I have the endurance of a hamster (I would follow the feline rule of threes there, but I only know two types of cat). The wisdom of the bike elders says that you identify your limiters ("limiters" is the coach way of saying "things you suck at"), and then you work to make them less limiting. This constant attention to athletic flaws takes a lot of energy, that’s why many bike racers don’t have any energy left over to be well rounded, interesting people—they’re too busy thinking about their threshold wattage. It’s exhausting work.

This constant attention to flaws is also why I don’t do any sort of New Year’s riding. I ride almost every other day of the goddam year, so riding on New Year’s isn’t something special—it’s what I do most of the time. I like to go against the obsessive flow on New Year’s and do things that "people" do. I go to parties, I drink things and I sleep in on New Year’s Day because for someone like me, that is a novelty. Going out and riding my bike is what I would normally be doing. And where’s the fun in that? On New Year’s I take a vacation into the world of the non-limited. I ignore the portion of my mind that whispers, "Why not try to sneak a ride before everyone wakes up?" and I sleep until I cannot sleep any more.

So there you have it, I’ve made an airtight case for being tipsy and lazy on New Year’s. It is your duty to not be the athletic obsessive that you are the other 364 days of the year. The world needs you to go out amongst people (even the ones that are coughing, stop being such a puss, you won’t get sick if you drink enough—that’s science), and converse about things. Don’t get up and ride all day on New Year’s just so you can take a selfie with snow in the background. Be a hero and sleep it off, lest you turn yourself into a Hulk with the thighs of a rhino, the torso of a hummingbird and a pair of ripped purple Capri pants.