I Miss It.

I used to have purpose. Every time I got on the bike, I knew why I was there.

These days? Not so much.

I wish I could blame it on a global pandemic or something, but the truth is I had been flailing for years. A string of injuries, over-training, under-training, not training, career change, weight gain... It all added up.

I miss that competitive drive. It was what fueled me to lose weight, to grind through painful intervals, and to ride in weather most sane people avoided. I knew the other guys were out there too, putting themselves through the same pain and making the same sacrifices so they could mix it up on race day. Seems like a lot of effort for races few cared about, which resulted in more financial loss than gain. Some of us are just wired to pin on a number, toe the line, and then see how we measure up.

Eventually that wiring short-circuits or the whole system is replaced with something else.

It's not there was any glory involved. A win might get you a pair of socks or a beer glass and some congratulations from fellow competitors, but nothing you could retire on or leverage into an ESPN commentary job. You did it because you were wired that way. It was fun, even when it was anything but fun.

Problem is, once you aren't physically capable of mixing it up with your peers, it becomes decidedly less fun. Once that happens, it's easy to lose focus and it's harder to claw your way back into contention. Vicious cycle.

But yeah, I want to start digging my way out of this hole. I want to drop the weight and get back to some sort of fitness so I can hang on for my life while the big kids play. That's going to take discipline, which seems to be a weakness of mine these days. Still, it's something to work towards. A modest goal, but at least it's a direction.

After years with a broken rudder, direction is an improvement.