There Was a Time

I was doing VO2max intervals on Potter Valley early this morning, and between sessions of trying to make myself puke my mind became fixated on a scene from the movie Lucky Number Slevin:

Mr. Goodkat: There was a time.
Nick: [wakes up, sees a man in a wheelchair is addressing him, and checks his watch] 4:35.
Mr. Goodkat: You misunderstood. I wasn't asking for the time, I was just saying "there was a time."
Nick: There was a time?
Mr. Goodkat: Mm-hmm. Take Brown Sugar back there, for example. [indicates elderly woman] She's pretty fucking foxy, right?
Nick: [pause] She's seventy.
Mr. Goodkat: If she's a day. But there was a time.
 

My endorphin-warped brain twisted this around, and I began to ask myself- is this that time?  I guess that’s my version of the middle-age refrain (usually delivered with a healthy dose of self-pity), is this as good as it gets? My version is a little different, in that I’m happy with how things turned out so far. Sure, there are things I wished I had done or not done, but that’s part of life. My family loves me. I haven’t been this healthy since my early 20s. Life is pretty good, and by that I mean I’m actively engaged and not just going through the motions.

…but the question is still there- have I gone as far as I’m going to go?

What these thoughts really tell me is that I’m on the edge of burnout. Given that the road racing season essentially draws to a close in a few weeks, this isn’t a big deal. After the Tour of Anchorage, I usually take a couple months off from “training” and just ride my bike… or not. My mind and body need periodic breaks, or I end up hating what I love, making everyone around me miserable until I find some sort of equilibrium. I need to recharge the batteries, because I’ll need that ‘ol enthusiasm back in 3 months when the weather relegates me to the trainer again. The potent combination of pointless, junk mile rides and a handful of cyclocross races usually does the trick.

Is this that time?

I guess we’ll see.

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