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.