Tuesday, October 9, 2012
We Sing To Free Ourselves From The Room.
Before, when I was really fucking serious about riding my bike, I was all about improving my body, both in terms of what it can do and how it does it. But now all I have to do is make sure I don't get unhealthily fat. That's liberating alright. I guess what's most emancipating about it is that I don't have to constantly evaluate how I'm doing, if I'm doing things correctly, if my legs are feeling sore or tired or a bit flat. I don't have to think about breathing through my diaphragm, don't have to take my heart rate every morning, don't have to weigh myself ever. Hell, I don't even have to really think about what I'm eating, beyond considering the aforementioned requirement to not put on a shit-ton of weight. Oh man, I could go on like this all day. This whole year I didn't have to go to bed early on a Friday night in order to be ready to race on Saturday morning. I didn't have to set my alarm for 6.30 in order to fit an ergo in before work. I didn't have to stretch, ever, and I didn't even look at the foam roller. That fucking bastard shitbreath asshat foam roller stayed under my bed the whole time.
I have no idea how I managed to do it all. Sure, lately I have quite a bit of spare time, and have been known to sprawl out a little bit more than usual, to relax and unravel in all the time I suddenly have available, but as the days click over I can't help but wonder where I fit it all in. And when that question comes, you know that right behind it is another question: why? The only answer I have is this - that endorphins are a hell of a drug. Yep. A hell of a drug.