Guilt is easier than success, it brings more good work.
If it were easy the guilt would evaporate, I like that it doesn't.
A random thought I had a while ago 'self loathing is a better training tool than an SRM.'
Pleased, insofar as a candid snapshot mid stream, not quite able to touch either side,
But in the middle I swim.
I guess on some level the fact that I am putting this out to all 4 of you that read my drivel has me thinking I may follow thru on this one. It might suck but isn't that the idea? Cross is about done so how else to suffer than in the wind and motor-wash of winter. Expect more crappy reporting on my efforts to get it done. I figure the first 3 months will be the hardest, after that slightly easier.
Looking outside at the gathering snow while I feel winter creeping into my bones the constant urge and regret covers me like a cotton t-shirt mid way thru a roller session. Did I ride enough on the nice days this summer/fall? Was I doing enough to not only quiet the head but to also prepare for the rougher cross races? My mind races faster the legs ever could, the visible wear is nothing compared to the desire to do well.
When the few good things get eclipsed by the too bright light of reality it all makes less sense, I want more clarity, not less, more direction- less loss. The darkness warms, instead of functioning in the bright light of day the shadows are more comfortable, either side, they're equally warm, get it right, it all feels that much better. Wrapping myself in the layers of wool and rubber, my days get longer, sleep becomes a more valuable commodity, more than heat, more than tires, more than everything. It's never enough to quiet the head's constant stream of useless shit. Push through it, then pulled backwards, a smile sneaks across my face as I know I get my chance to shut it all out.
Mumford And Sons - Maroquinerie - Little Lion Man from valerie toumayan on Vimeo.
The feel of the embro stinging the legs as the cold air and warmth fight it out, hoping fresh legs rule the day. The gummy 2nd day legs for the first time since November are tested to see if the summer's work was up to snuff.
Others a neoprene suit, now wet, but not slow.
Today was a little of both, slogging through the race at my own pace.
All at once the end arrives, legs wanting more than the day could give.
Rolling away with a clear system and ready for more of the same.
Squinting to clear the sunspots-Little stars float thru the haze,
Replace the dark with the light. Fresh underneath, crisp morning into bright sun, and random rain.
All in a day, an hour a second. At once clear.
Closing in on the only real goal I can find.
All of the others fade into the miles around trees that they are.
A steady diet of nothing pushes into September.
Beautiful crisp air, darkness more than light.
Swap out the fast for the steady.
The little pieces of pedal are getting bigger by the day, more and more time in the chamois has the head a lot more quiet. Sleep comes in welcomed chunks instead of bits. The pedals turn at a good pace and with the time sinks all around I manage my time.
Clearly racing and the time constraints it creates isn't for everyone. The more I prepare myself and get out and do the work the more I feel good about it. I know it's unlikely to make a dent in much of anything except for the bumper of that next car to pull out too fast as I roll by. I wouldn't know what to do if I didn't do it. I likely would stop sleeping all together, function in a sort of ether that consisted 20 minute naps and incessant nausea. Instead, I ride.
I'm afraid, everyday I see the fade coming, whether it's the car that passes too close or the cyclist coming the other way on the path, always wondering what's going to take me out next. Maybe it's more of a slow burn, slow to fade out, time expires and I'm left there, caught out, somewhere in the middle between the family, the bike and the job. making the best decisions with at least the first on the list. Touch the fade and it clears up, like an instant photo on an old Kodak. Slowly focusing and slowly becoming clear, what passes as crystal clear these days. They say a baby sees everything without a tint because new vision is the clearest, all these years I'm sure have fried mine, I can only see as clear as I can. It has to be enough.
The motivation is like a revolving door, always bringing in new air to mix with the stale stench of what didn't get done. The faster the door turns around the slower I seem to go. I need more time at my time, this whole getting up as the coyotes and fox go to sleep gets tough. Bed feels good even at 5 am in almost broad daylight. The door turns again. I wish the pedals turned over so easily.