I hate the saying "life happens(ed)". You know, like, I was working towards a career, schooling, whatever and "life happened" thus knocking me off my trajectory and stalling my plans.
Life is life. Everything in it is life happening. The good, the bad, the ugly; warts and all.
20-25 years ago, I never would have thought that my life would be where it has been. Seen what it's seen. Felt what it's felt. Become nearly broken.
I know that my experiences happen to others, that I'm definitely nothing special. But I can't believe the number, depth and impact of things that have happened in the last two-plus years. Maybe one day I can find a way to express those experiences to my online peeps. But for now, this blog is, and always has been, about a fat man talking about cycling, philosophy, psychology and cats!
And I'd like to keep it that way. Those things have always kept me happy, focused and away from darkness.
And that's why I'm here. I've saddled up again, after two years, one month and twenty-two days (not that I'm keeping track or anything). I'm slow, fatter and way out of shape. My Specialized Allez and Roubaix bikes picked up without missing a beat. Shifting was snappy, tubes aired right up and my spirit soared. I mean SOARED.
My warmup used to be 10 miles while adjusting my gloves, helmet shoes and still averaging 20mph. Today I did 23 miles and my heart rate hit 179 bpm with a final 16.2mph average. Wow.
However, I bought a house in central Florida (literally the middle of nowhere. Cows and orange groves surround me) which has much more "elevation" and rolling hills than the coastal pancake region where I used to ride.
I feel good. I feel strong. I feel capable. And I feel alive. Cycling saved me once before. I'm imposing on it to help me again. And after 60-ish miles in three rides I can tell it already has.