To me, there seems to be two
types of people – preservationists (the normal ones) and visionaries. When
preservationists are uncomfortable they back away, looking for the quickest way
to a nicer existence, which is downright sensible. Visionaries are those people
who search out meaning or reason in the discomfort. “This will make me stronger
for next time”, you know the kind I mean. Somewhere along the way I
lost my vision.
Cycling is so akin to a relationship it’s uncanny sometimes.
She’s a gorgeous mistress but my god a tiring one; all lips and hips and cheeky
looks behind people’s backs, only for you. You think. You make yourself believe
she’s the one, but she’s fickle, and she's naughty. One day you’re chosen and you
unite; fabulous, passionate, obsessive. Then one week later, less even, she
cheats on you and you’re left staring wistfully up the road from the grupetto, lusting
to be lucky once again.
I got sick of it recently. I wanted something more stable,
for once, something safe. A passion that wouldn’t have me fretting every minute
of every day. Something that would reliably give me satisfaction, on a fairly
logical basis. So I thought anyway.
Then I realised, the incredible times are just great, the
great times only good. The lows aren’t so nauseatingly profound but I would
rather feel dreadful than nothing at all.
There will come a time when I will succumb to the
real world and my wrinkles, but it’s not now, not yet. I don’t ever want to settle. For now, I'll stay cycling's illegitimate mistress.
