Ring A Ring A Rosie, As The Light Declines.

I won't lie to you. Lately the idea of being a bike racer, of doing the prerequisite hours of training, of spending long hours driving out to bike races, of suffering for uncertain reward, is losing some of its lustre. Taking advantage of a long period off the bike, I've been going out on the town, seeing bands, catching up with people who I love, loved, will love. It's been pretty pleasant.

Sure, I've been back on the ergo, I'm doing the road miles, and am still rocking up to help with racing every week. But, unlike any other time in my short career as a racer, right now I'm uncertain if this is how I want to spend the next few years.

I suppose if I could depend on my body things would be different. I'd just blast back into it and not give a damn, take no prisoners, burn baby burn. But this caution leaves me looking elsewhere. Every time I have to sit up on a climb, because I feel like I shouldn't be pushing too hard just yet, I start to think about giving it all away.

I've said in the past that in this game - or any other competitive endeavour, really - uncertainty equals failure. There's simply no room for doubt, for questioning, for thinking too much. That's why I fell in love with it. But now, with so many doubts, I can't help but wonder if I'd be happier doing other things.

I guess it's the exgirlfriend analogy again. At the moment, cycling feels like someone I used to hang out with. Right now we're circling each other again, seeing if we still fit together, holding each other all night and hoping things won't feel weird when we wake up next to each other. Trying to find the spark.