By The Time You Read This.
As I write this, I'm watching the street sweepers clean a winter's worth of sand and debris from the roads around Elmendorf. The base always is about 15 or 20 steps ahead of the municipality in this regard. By the time you read this, I'll probably have been on the road for about a week, having finally exhausted my list of excuses for not riding.
The ambient temperature is still a little low for me in my old age, but they are on the upswing. If I didn't ride on cold days, my season would be very short indeed. I'll just dress warm, shiver for a while, be comfortable for 15 minutes, overheat, start to sweat, and then shiver again.
I need to get out there. I need miles.
I need more than the trainer or a weekly visit to the Dome, which I skipped to watch Peter Sagan win Paris-Roubaix. Actually, I also opted for the trainer that morning because it was right in the middle of Mighty Mite weekend, two days of races and chaos and kids. It's fun and exhausting. So, as I watch the street sweepers and compose this blog post, my legs are quietly sobbing under the desk.
This was almost certainly my last Mighty Mite weekend as a coach. Definitely my last season as one. Next year my job probably won't permit me to commit to it, and to be honest, I'm ready to cut loose from the obligation for a while. I need to ski with my daughter on the North Face and show her all of the little pockets of fun on the mountain. I need to scare her, then show her there was nothing to be afraid of. I need to take my youngest out on skis and show him how fun it is to slide on snow. The obligation kept me from doing that, and I need to rectify the situation before it's too late.
I'll miss the kids. I'll miss being the first one to take them down a double black diamond, to see their eyes fill with pride when they realize what they just accomplished, and to hear them ask to go do it all over again. I don't care if they race in the future, as long as they never stop looking for the pockets of fun. The kids made the cold and zero visibility days worthwhile. They were why I dragged myself out of the bed when I really, really wanted to fall back asleep.
But seasons change.
While spring has been slow to arrive, it's finally here. I'm ready for the first few tentative steps. It won't take long. Once the snow recedes further from the road and doesn't add to the chill, I'll push a little harder. The paved trails will start to dry, and my route options will increase. The municipal sweepers will catch up, and I'll take more chances on the clean roads. The miles will start adding up. What they add up to is still to be determined, but I know that every one puts me in a better place than where I was a mile ago. Fast or slow, as long as you're moving forward, you win. They may not score races that way, but I do.
By the time you read this, I hope you're riding too.
The ambient temperature is still a little low for me in my old age, but they are on the upswing. If I didn't ride on cold days, my season would be very short indeed. I'll just dress warm, shiver for a while, be comfortable for 15 minutes, overheat, start to sweat, and then shiver again.
I need to get out there. I need miles.
I need more than the trainer or a weekly visit to the Dome, which I skipped to watch Peter Sagan win Paris-Roubaix. Actually, I also opted for the trainer that morning because it was right in the middle of Mighty Mite weekend, two days of races and chaos and kids. It's fun and exhausting. So, as I watch the street sweepers and compose this blog post, my legs are quietly sobbing under the desk.
This was almost certainly my last Mighty Mite weekend as a coach. Definitely my last season as one. Next year my job probably won't permit me to commit to it, and to be honest, I'm ready to cut loose from the obligation for a while. I need to ski with my daughter on the North Face and show her all of the little pockets of fun on the mountain. I need to scare her, then show her there was nothing to be afraid of. I need to take my youngest out on skis and show him how fun it is to slide on snow. The obligation kept me from doing that, and I need to rectify the situation before it's too late.
I'll miss the kids. I'll miss being the first one to take them down a double black diamond, to see their eyes fill with pride when they realize what they just accomplished, and to hear them ask to go do it all over again. I don't care if they race in the future, as long as they never stop looking for the pockets of fun. The kids made the cold and zero visibility days worthwhile. They were why I dragged myself out of the bed when I really, really wanted to fall back asleep.
But seasons change.
While spring has been slow to arrive, it's finally here. I'm ready for the first few tentative steps. It won't take long. Once the snow recedes further from the road and doesn't add to the chill, I'll push a little harder. The paved trails will start to dry, and my route options will increase. The municipal sweepers will catch up, and I'll take more chances on the clean roads. The miles will start adding up. What they add up to is still to be determined, but I know that every one puts me in a better place than where I was a mile ago. Fast or slow, as long as you're moving forward, you win. They may not score races that way, but I do.
By the time you read this, I hope you're riding too.
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