No riding today. Denver. I haven’t been on the bike for more than 12 hours, but part of my ass is still numb. Weird.
Right now, I’m on vacation time.
Every so often I do something because I don’t think I can do it.
Sitting in a café today, almost 24 hours off the bike, I thought of the miles behind me, and I thought of the miles ahead, and the soreness of my bones, and the tiredness of my head, and it sounded an Herculean task, just to go, to make it, to consider going back. I didn’t think I could make it.
Which is why I’ll do it.
I don’t know why I started—it seemed like the thing to do, I suppose—but now I have a reason to go on. A flimsly, poorly-thought-out reason that has nothing to do with what lies at any of destinations, but sometimes any reason can be a good enough reason. So call it an excuse.
I like to push myself. As I’ve said before, in other places, I’ve tried to push myself to my limits, but I couldn’t—I never found my limits.
Right now, I’m on vacation time.
Every so often I do something because I don’t think I can do it.
Sitting in a café today, almost 24 hours off the bike, I thought of the miles behind me, and I thought of the miles ahead, and the soreness of my bones, and the tiredness of my head, and it sounded an Herculean task, just to go, to make it, to consider going back. I didn’t think I could make it.
Which is why I’ll do it.
I don’t know why I started—it seemed like the thing to do, I suppose—but now I have a reason to go on. A flimsly, poorly-thought-out reason that has nothing to do with what lies at any of destinations, but sometimes any reason can be a good enough reason. So call it an excuse.
I like to push myself. As I’ve said before, in other places, I’ve tried to push myself to my limits, but I couldn’t—I never found my limits.
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