[Note: I have been posting logs on my AIDS ride site (http://www.tofighthiv.org/site/TR/Events/AIDSLifeCycleCenter?px=3179523&pg=personal&fr_id=1880) and thought this one seemed to fit on this blog as well. So... here you go.]
Don't Want to Live Like a Refugee. Obviously one of my favorite songs... and it
came up while taking a spin class the other night. Brought up a lot of
interesting thoughts... and helped me understand a bit more what's going
on with me and the bicycling these days.
When I was growing up, I would ride my bike in the late summer evenings
around my house. I would just go around and around the same blocks, or
along the same route, and it was wonderful contemplative time. I found
such peace and solace during those moments, just working things out in
my head and heart. When I got my driver's license I would do the same
thing: drive and drive and drive (this was in a big old Chevy when gas
was so cheap we didn't even think about driving aimlessly around town
for hours.)
I move to work things out in my head. I'm not a sitter or a recliner. I
don't hole up and cogitate. I MOVE. And if I can move while I think
things through, then it seems to work better and faster than if it just
settles deep inside and digs in for the winter.
I think I'm doing the same thing now. I think I'm actually now just
starting to work through the ramifications of what happened to me last
year. I had cancer. It was actually something that could have killed
me young. If we hadn't caught it when we did, it could have been really
bad. That takes some working through.
I am working things out in motion, so I can finally come to rest, I
think. I don't actually want to live like a refugee. I want to settle
down, find peace, be able to breathe deeply and long. It is ironic that
the way I approach finding stillness is by movement, but that's the way
I seem to work things out. And I think my intense desire to do this
HUGE ride matches the magnitude of what I need to be working out within
myself.
Where am I? What is my purpose here? What just happened? How do I
deal with the fact that -- no matter what -- it will happen again,
someday, sometime, and for real?
Every pedal seems to be a catharsis of these huge heavy questions. I
like it that the hills are physical. I like it that the sweat is real.
I like being so brought into the present moment by my muscles and my
need for water that I really really can't think of anything else. THAT
is respite. THAT is peace. To be able to focus on one large task, and
let the rest of life be the refugee for awhile.
