In the past 3 years I've biked a lot. At least 5,000 miles. That's a rough guess, because I stopped keeping count. It's not about the distance. It's about pushing my body to the limits. Any exercise for me - tennis, racquetball, swimming - but especially biking - is cathartic. It's a way to clear my head, by ruthlessly focusing on the task at hand: beating that hill, catching that green light, keeping the bikers behind me at a distance. I race everything. And I love it.
Often times, there comes a point when I begin to actually feel more comfortable panting and sweating and burning my legs than I do coasting and relaxing. When I let up, it's like I'm doing something wrong. It's not that I don't believe in joy-riding. It's that for me, joy-riding comes from the struggle. And I know that I can make it, because I've done it for. It's an important idea to drill into my head - and body: to lean into the obstacles and overcome them. Because I'll carry that sense of confidence around with me in my pocket: a blank page, a project deadline, refraining from eating ice cream...
I always leave my phone off and put it at the bottom of my backpack. It's not about cutting myself off from distractions so much as focusing on the road and my surroundings - in solitude. Exploring. Highways. Side streets. Park trails. Mountain trails. Beach paths. Southern California is ideal for finding a new route because it's almost impossible to get lost. But wherever I end up, at the end, is of course a good book.
That's my reward: to reach a spot with a view I can enjoy and then pull out a book and escape into it. I read until I'm rested - and restless once more - until I want to make the return trek. I've had ideas come to me on the road. In fact, I've had entire conversations with myself about my writing or someone I know - things I like or dislike. That's just gravy though.
The real benefit comes after: when I'm legitimately tired at the end of the day, unable to fight the sleep. When i wake up feeling the ache in my legs and the sunburn on my cheeks. Knowing I'm 1% faster, 1% leaner, 1% more clear-headed. Always gaining more momentum. Just enough for my next ride.
I'll need it.
Often times, there comes a point when I begin to actually feel more comfortable panting and sweating and burning my legs than I do coasting and relaxing. When I let up, it's like I'm doing something wrong. It's not that I don't believe in joy-riding. It's that for me, joy-riding comes from the struggle. And I know that I can make it, because I've done it for. It's an important idea to drill into my head - and body: to lean into the obstacles and overcome them. Because I'll carry that sense of confidence around with me in my pocket: a blank page, a project deadline, refraining from eating ice cream...
I always leave my phone off and put it at the bottom of my backpack. It's not about cutting myself off from distractions so much as focusing on the road and my surroundings - in solitude. Exploring. Highways. Side streets. Park trails. Mountain trails. Beach paths. Southern California is ideal for finding a new route because it's almost impossible to get lost. But wherever I end up, at the end, is of course a good book.
That's my reward: to reach a spot with a view I can enjoy and then pull out a book and escape into it. I read until I'm rested - and restless once more - until I want to make the return trek. I've had ideas come to me on the road. In fact, I've had entire conversations with myself about my writing or someone I know - things I like or dislike. That's just gravy though.
The real benefit comes after: when I'm legitimately tired at the end of the day, unable to fight the sleep. When i wake up feeling the ache in my legs and the sunburn on my cheeks. Knowing I'm 1% faster, 1% leaner, 1% more clear-headed. Always gaining more momentum. Just enough for my next ride.
I'll need it.
{My favorite spot in Laguna with one of my favorite reads}
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