The race metaphor doesn't hold up perfectly, because nothing at work causes the leg-burning, lung-searing agony that bike racing can. If someone forced you to do anything that made you feel as bad as jamming on a bike does, you would consider yourself abused.
Still, some images from racing apply. Customers always attack at the feed zone. Think things have quieted down? Pull out that sandwich. You might even get to sit down and take a breath. Next thing you know you're either tossing it aside to meet the next trampling horde of bike renters and rack pickers, or trying to swallow it whole, like a snake engulfing its prey.