There is no beauty in that sort of rushed, macho nonsense; one only acheives grace and poise when about to fall off from a squeaking rusty bicycle, depositing a keybord that you squash it9 onto a grass verge to whoops of delight from the community on the 164. And leaking slightly into the lycra. But turn up, with a damp crotch, slightly incoherent and covered in bruises and tyre marks and it would be a different matter entirely.