White Noise


There hasn’t been any motivation for a while now.  I’m not sure where it has taken off to, but I rarely ever WANT to ride my bike anymore.  I didn’t want to ride today, but I think other people know me better than I know myself, so I trusted their words. 

My heart wasn’t in it, but I didn’t have a choice.  My legs weren’t in it, but I didn’t have a choice.  My head wasn’t in it, but when the climb began, I lost all thought.  My mind was white noise, the stuff I love so much.  My legs burned, my head ached, my hands became slippery with sweat…but my heart felt nothing.  Suffering is a hell of a drug.

As soon as I reached the top, I immediately found myself going back to that place, and I knew I had to push myself.  So I did.  I don’t think I ever really had a moment to recover.  I kept pushing, the pain got worse, my lungs felt small, but I kept pushing.  Another climb.  I could feel my chest fill up as I made it to the top.  Keep riding.  Don’t stop suffering.  If my body screams out in agony, I can’t feel anything else.  It all goes away.

It’s the most perfect, miserable, muscle-taxing therapy known to mankind.  And I don’t want to ride tomorrow, but I probably will.

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