tectonic soul
change, metamorphosis, death, re-birth, whatever it is, whatever you wanna call it. sometimes it's a long, long process of events and then at some point we look behind us and realize we're nowhere near where we started and have no idea how we got here. other times we're rolling along, living our lives and then one morning we wake up and everything has changed without a warning. of course, after a while we can look back and see it wasn't all of a sudden after all.
about a year ago i went through a major life change and personal tectonic shift. i played it off like it was just part of life, which it is i guess, but apparently it impacted me so much more than i would've ever imagined.
over the last 10-12 years, i had been immersing myself deeper and deeper into the cycling culture. starting with commuting, then venturing into some long rides around my city. then working as a bike messenger and becoming obsessed with mountain biking which trickled it's way down to cyclocross, and finally completely enveloped in road biking and as much european culture that i could get away with. doing my best to follow all the little unwritten "rules" and traditions of the sport to stocking up on pink V-necks and making sure there were always some local charcuterie and cheeses nearby to snack on. i was at home here. i understood it and it became an incredible source of reference, entertainment, education, you name it. after several years of racing, i even started to build my small community from this. then....CRASH! done. i was over it.
i was finally having a good year. finally making it to the front of the pack and making a little bit of a splash in my humble Master's Cat 4 group. i entered a small stage race and proceeded to train like i've never trained before. racing 2-4 races a week for several weeks leading into it. i had a good race and was feeling strong. almost invincible and i didn't want to lose this. i came home and a couple weeks later entered an uphill time trial. 16 miles and 4,000 feet uphill. i finished fifth. a couple weeks later i entered another uphill time trial. a little shorter but a little steeper. about 100 yards from the finish i just wanted to get off my bike and go home. didn't realize this feeling would stay.
i went into cyclocross season a few weeks later and could barely make it to the end of a race. i stopped training, but kept racing, and spent my time learning to paint. basically coming home from work everyday, drinking espresso, listening to death metal, watching the rain outside and painting gloomy landscapes. in three months i completed over 50 paintings. some i'm really proud of, others not so much.
by march my tectonic life shift had happened and i was living in a 250 sq. ft. studio apartment and all my bikes were away in storage. wasn't really up for hanging out and riding with friends and never really enjoyed winter riding anyway and since i didn't really have a convenient space to clean and service my bikes after each ride, i just opted to run. pretty soon i'm spending just about everyday after work running between 8-12 miles up in the small wilderness area near my apartment.
i ran more and more, slower and slower. so slow i could almost feel my feet taking root. i wanted to take my shoes off and become a part of this forest. didn't seem reasonable so i just spent more and more time in the woods with as least stuff possible. as least clothing, water, food. not even headphones most of the time. most runs had me leaving the house with just shorts, shoes (i'd stopped wearing socks by this time) and my GPS (don't care how minimalist you are, ya gotta log that shit). no more charcuterie and cheese either. that had given way to kale juice and peanut butter.
i took a bit of a hit from my "community" as well. most of them meant well. just worried about me. fuck, i was worried about me. some, i believe, reacted out of fear. i didn't get it at first but someone helped me understand it by explaining that my walking away from my former life left some wondering (subconsciously of course) if the same could happen with them. after being shown that idea, i can see it more obviously now. and there were a few who actually understood, probably more so than i did myself, and just let me work it out. i'm still working it out.
i'll always be grateful to cycling but it seems like every time i get on a bike it's just a reminder of a past life, not a former life but a PAST life that no longer involves me. i believe at one point i found myself in cycling and was able to re-invent myself and forge a new life. i also believe as i buried that life, cycling was buried along with it.
this new self, new life needs to travel a lot farther and a lot higher to find what he's looking for. whatever that is. answers. questions. less weight in the pack, on the body, in the mind and soul. move slow, travel fast, pack light, go farther.
there's a tradition with some appalachian trail through hikers that they put a rock in their pack. usually 2-4 lbs. and when at some point on that 2,000+ mile journey they just can't take anymore, they take out that rock and leave it on the trail unburdening themselves of the weight and pain that it's causing. i'm still carrying that rock and i've got a long way to go.
about a year ago i went through a major life change and personal tectonic shift. i played it off like it was just part of life, which it is i guess, but apparently it impacted me so much more than i would've ever imagined.over the last 10-12 years, i had been immersing myself deeper and deeper into the cycling culture. starting with commuting, then venturing into some long rides around my city. then working as a bike messenger and becoming obsessed with mountain biking which trickled it's way down to cyclocross, and finally completely enveloped in road biking and as much european culture that i could get away with. doing my best to follow all the little unwritten "rules" and traditions of the sport to stocking up on pink V-necks and making sure there were always some local charcuterie and cheeses nearby to snack on. i was at home here. i understood it and it became an incredible source of reference, entertainment, education, you name it. after several years of racing, i even started to build my small community from this. then....CRASH! done. i was over it.
i was finally having a good year. finally making it to the front of the pack and making a little bit of a splash in my humble Master's Cat 4 group. i entered a small stage race and proceeded to train like i've never trained before. racing 2-4 races a week for several weeks leading into it. i had a good race and was feeling strong. almost invincible and i didn't want to lose this. i came home and a couple weeks later entered an uphill time trial. 16 miles and 4,000 feet uphill. i finished fifth. a couple weeks later i entered another uphill time trial. a little shorter but a little steeper. about 100 yards from the finish i just wanted to get off my bike and go home. didn't realize this feeling would stay.
i went into cyclocross season a few weeks later and could barely make it to the end of a race. i stopped training, but kept racing, and spent my time learning to paint. basically coming home from work everyday, drinking espresso, listening to death metal, watching the rain outside and painting gloomy landscapes. in three months i completed over 50 paintings. some i'm really proud of, others not so much.
by march my tectonic life shift had happened and i was living in a 250 sq. ft. studio apartment and all my bikes were away in storage. wasn't really up for hanging out and riding with friends and never really enjoyed winter riding anyway and since i didn't really have a convenient space to clean and service my bikes after each ride, i just opted to run. pretty soon i'm spending just about everyday after work running between 8-12 miles up in the small wilderness area near my apartment.
i ran more and more, slower and slower. so slow i could almost feel my feet taking root. i wanted to take my shoes off and become a part of this forest. didn't seem reasonable so i just spent more and more time in the woods with as least stuff possible. as least clothing, water, food. not even headphones most of the time. most runs had me leaving the house with just shorts, shoes (i'd stopped wearing socks by this time) and my GPS (don't care how minimalist you are, ya gotta log that shit). no more charcuterie and cheese either. that had given way to kale juice and peanut butter.
i took a bit of a hit from my "community" as well. most of them meant well. just worried about me. fuck, i was worried about me. some, i believe, reacted out of fear. i didn't get it at first but someone helped me understand it by explaining that my walking away from my former life left some wondering (subconsciously of course) if the same could happen with them. after being shown that idea, i can see it more obviously now. and there were a few who actually understood, probably more so than i did myself, and just let me work it out. i'm still working it out.
i'll always be grateful to cycling but it seems like every time i get on a bike it's just a reminder of a past life, not a former life but a PAST life that no longer involves me. i believe at one point i found myself in cycling and was able to re-invent myself and forge a new life. i also believe as i buried that life, cycling was buried along with it.
this new self, new life needs to travel a lot farther and a lot higher to find what he's looking for. whatever that is. answers. questions. less weight in the pack, on the body, in the mind and soul. move slow, travel fast, pack light, go farther.
there's a tradition with some appalachian trail through hikers that they put a rock in their pack. usually 2-4 lbs. and when at some point on that 2,000+ mile journey they just can't take anymore, they take out that rock and leave it on the trail unburdening themselves of the weight and pain that it's causing. i'm still carrying that rock and i've got a long way to go.
