I am listening to Iheart radio. My eyes are rolling back in my head, fighting the need for sleep. I rewind through a montage of images from the last two weeks. Flying down The Greenway with a thirty mile an hour tail wind. Running out of gears on grass hills. Laughing alone in a field is a new feeling and a memory from life before injuries. Sunday on Red Bug, realizing I am not ready to ride roots. Crawling back up Woodgate to my house. It seems like I have been riding forever again, but its only been two weeks. The obligation has returned. I hope it stays long enough to get me in shape.
The pain is focused and general. The initial pain of the saddles first touch. Rolling through the first minutes of stiffness. The only good thing in my grasp is a feeling of familiarity. Feeling like a rider. Something is different, maybe a lack of impatience. First things first: miles, take off weight, learn to turn. Someday in the distant weeks, I will suddenly be able to stay on for a whole group ride. Maybe someday I'll reach the holy of holies: an unconscious point where I ask myself, why the ride is so slow.
The song on Iheart leads to an involuntary head nod. It is eight minutes long and I want to hear it for an hour. It's by a band from the eighties. A-hA. Dear (deity of choice) I hated that band and yet here they are on my phone, killing me with melody and groove.
Anything is possible, I am sure of that one thing. If you forget to judge, to preconceive, you can be lured (in spite of yourself) back to a place of happiness.
W.B.Z.N.
