When I ride…
Back when I was fat everything was an excuse to stay fat. I was tired from work, I wasn’t feeling well, my knees hurt, my back hurt, I was busy, I was pressed for time, I am depressed, I am happy, I am mad, I am peaceful….
Everything was an excuse to stay lazy and to stay fat and to blame all my woes on being fat.
Now I am lean. I am not skinny. I am lean. I am till hovering between 200 and 210 and I feel wonderful.
Today I came home from a frustrating, busy, stuck at my desk day at work and I had a nice dinner of squash, sweet potato, Naan and coriander chutney. I also had an apple.
I was ready to ignore the promise I had made to myself to ride the trainer tonight. Sit in front of the TV and ignore the bike…
But I didn’t. I have plans and goals and I am working towards them and so I put on the cycling shorts and shoes and I got on the trainer and I rode. 34 minutes.
I was planning on an hour. But I cut it to half an hour. It’s ok. I did the work. I will do more in the morning or after work tomorrow but I will get it in.
When I ride, even on the trainer, there is a peace in me that I do not find elsewhere in my world. It is a different peace than I find when I am with my family or with my friends. It is a unique place in my existence that I have never found elsewhere.
I watched TV while pedaling but I really didn’t. My eye stared but my mind was focused on the rhythm of the cadence. I was concentrating on smoothing out the pedaling. Concentrating on maintaining an even cadence, riding smoothly. I was concentrating on my breathing. I was thinking about pace. I was thinking about how far I would have ridden, what the turns would feel like. I was thinking about the Five-boro Bike Tour. I was thinking about the miles I need to ride to be ready for the 100 miles in June.
I was deeply focused within.
When I ride I escape.
Living without the past
Do you do this? Do you look at the past and wonder if it was real?
I am nearing 53 years on this rock. I remember my past the way I remember books I have read. Almost in the third person, as a narrative.
I know I was fat. I have seen the pictures and I can remember the pain, emotional and physical, that went along with it. It is so recent that it has to faded.
What I don’t remember clearly is when I was thin. I remember high school as if I was watching it or reading about it, not so much anymore as if I lived it.
Just an observation