God has spoke-n
Today had promised to be a good day. Bike race in the blessed sunshine. Good friends, healthy competition, possibilities of victory... The course was in Deep Cove, one of my favourites: a nice, long 7 km loop with a very shallow hill at the finish. The hill is deceptive, however; it looks short, but really goes on for a little longer than expected. SB was out, as well as ME, and with myself, and a strong rider from OBB, the 30's looked well capable of catching the 40's. And possibly the 50's.
The race began with a pact to paceline as hard as possible to reel in the older groups. SB took over, and did some strong pulls; it was quickly evident that SB, ME, the OBB rider, and I were the strongest in the pack. I was looking forward to a long, hard race. Unfortunately, my run of bad luck continued today, and into the second lap I broke a rear spoke. It went off with a metallic twang on a corner; about 2 km later it started clanging about, and I decided it was time to pull the parachute. I feel continuing for those 2 kms was actually reckless.
At any rate, I did not feel like hanging about, and, tail between my legs, headed back along W.Saanich for home. I passed by the cottage on McTavish, where my ex and I spent the last couple of years of our relationship. Somehow the successive mechanical failures, my crash, the meeting with my ex, and passing by the cottage overwhelmed my emotions. I began to have dismal thoughts, and by the time I had made the breakwater, I had convinced myself to quit cycling, quit grad school, and 'get a job.'
Some five hours later everything is back to normal. I remain convinced that I must devote myself totally to this thesis, however. There can be no more dallying. Racing weekends, in particular, must be sacrificed; races simply consume the whole day, from the extensive preparations, to the travel, the actual racing, the post-race gab-fest, the travel, and the wind-down: it's a day shot to hell, basically. I'm not even convinced that I can be that productive the following day. The havoc that racing plays on the hormones and nervous system is quite unsettling.
I wonder if I lead two lives sometimes, and even if this duality is somehow necessary to me, and both constitutive of my nature and sustenance for my will, that it slowly is grinding me down and leaving me somewhat listless, even enervated. I've kind of planned to somehow focus on the Sidney TT, and try to keep my weekends for diligent study. Part of this will have to be inviting GK to aid and direct my inquiry, even if I find him a bit obnoxious and quarrelsome.
The race began with a pact to paceline as hard as possible to reel in the older groups. SB took over, and did some strong pulls; it was quickly evident that SB, ME, the OBB rider, and I were the strongest in the pack. I was looking forward to a long, hard race. Unfortunately, my run of bad luck continued today, and into the second lap I broke a rear spoke. It went off with a metallic twang on a corner; about 2 km later it started clanging about, and I decided it was time to pull the parachute. I feel continuing for those 2 kms was actually reckless.
At any rate, I did not feel like hanging about, and, tail between my legs, headed back along W.Saanich for home. I passed by the cottage on McTavish, where my ex and I spent the last couple of years of our relationship. Somehow the successive mechanical failures, my crash, the meeting with my ex, and passing by the cottage overwhelmed my emotions. I began to have dismal thoughts, and by the time I had made the breakwater, I had convinced myself to quit cycling, quit grad school, and 'get a job.'
Some five hours later everything is back to normal. I remain convinced that I must devote myself totally to this thesis, however. There can be no more dallying. Racing weekends, in particular, must be sacrificed; races simply consume the whole day, from the extensive preparations, to the travel, the actual racing, the post-race gab-fest, the travel, and the wind-down: it's a day shot to hell, basically. I'm not even convinced that I can be that productive the following day. The havoc that racing plays on the hormones and nervous system is quite unsettling.
I wonder if I lead two lives sometimes, and even if this duality is somehow necessary to me, and both constitutive of my nature and sustenance for my will, that it slowly is grinding me down and leaving me somewhat listless, even enervated. I've kind of planned to somehow focus on the Sidney TT, and try to keep my weekends for diligent study. Part of this will have to be inviting GK to aid and direct my inquiry, even if I find him a bit obnoxious and quarrelsome.
posted by Stallionforce at 8:28 PM
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