Bridge

Last night I cycled to Williamsburg, over the Williamsburg bridge, had cheap tacos (at La superior) with an old friend who had just dyed his hair bright pink, then cycled back to the west side to have drinks at the Jane hotel.
(Dinner conversation: Pink: So are you doing it with anyone? Me: No. And I don't like anyone either if that's what you're going to ask next. Pink: Maybe you're a lesbian. Pink's friend who joined: No, she's waiting for someone special. That's definitely a hetero female thing to do.)
At Jane Hotel I had a discussion with someone on whether it is more difficult to bike from Brooklyn to Manhattan or the other way around. Apparently bridges are never built completely equal on both sides, so it is more steep, and therefore more difficult, to cycle to Brooklyn. Or to Manhattan. I forgot what he said, but I remember disagreeing.
In my experience you quickly forget how much effort it takes to bike to the middle, once you can stop peddling and let yourself go. I once heard that the body exudes certain hormones after childbirth to make you forget the pain you suffered. All you feel is utter exhilaration.
Maybe humans are programmed to block out any suffering once there is no need for it anymore. When the suffering doesn't compare to the joy it has led to.
Yes, I just compared cycling up a bridge with giving birth. And no, I have never given birth.
I woke up with a hangover and forgot what was so fun about last night. I guess this theory works both ways.