At least we’re honest. Not always nice, not always good, not always happy, but honest, us bike racers. The bike beats the honesty into us: we get what we pay for, so to speak.
This week, life looms large and time consuming. Among other things, this has left me pressed for time to write this article and get out on my bike to train. My daughter is starting a new school that apparently requires more paperwork to attend than what I remember of applying to grad school, plus it was her birthday last week; I’m starting a part-time adjunct gig next week (about 16 hours after I’ll get home from the Green Mountain Stage Race); and I have a messy apartment, a car that needs an oil change and a stack of end-of-Summer bills all clamoring for my attention like little cartoon weevils. All of these things will get done, and all of them — particularly the ones related to my awesome kid — will provide me with a genuine feeling of satisfaction. You see, I like my life, I like the stuff in it, and no matter how much I sometimes wonder what could have happened if I started racing bikes when I was 18 instead of 27, I actually have the relationship to bike racing that I want, and the joy that I get out of bike racing and training is not about any aspiration to become a full-time pro. It’s about the privilege, stress-inducing though it is, of being able to race at a relatively high level as an amateur, and to have that be only one set of pieces of a somewhat balanced life.
So yes, all of these commitments will reward my efforts, but some more than others. After all, a resume cover letter well written doesn’t guarantee a job, and anyone who tells you parenthood isn’t occasionally thankless is flatly lying. Where bike racing keeps me honest is by giving me back exactly what I put into it, and that direct correlation between input and output is something I think people are hurting for in daily life. I know I am. And that’s what keeps me coming back to this beautiful sport, and it’s what keeps me training, usually alone, as hard and as often as I can manage.
With cyclocross season looming large and exciting, I find myself with some of my annual transition jitters and I have been hearing a certain amount of this from my peers, as well. Though I am committed to racing on the road and I care about it, ‘cross season is where I really feel at home as an athlete. Every year around this time, the same questions begin to run through my head: Have I really done enough work? Is my high-end fitness where I want it to be? Did I really rest enough in July to carry my current form into September and try to keep building? Will I crack before nationals? The funny part is that if I’m totally gut-level honest with myself, I have yet to be surprised by the answers to any of these questions—I know what I’ve been up to.
And that’s the beauty of it. The difference between a season of raising the bar for myself and pushing for better results than last year, as opposed to a season spent showing up just to participate is no mystery, and it isn’t determined by some set of variables that are beyond my control. So this fall, I’m trying to remember to be grateful for the opportunity to push myself, to work hard and feel rewarded, and simply to be able to do something that I get so much satisfaction out of, in so many ways. This is after all a profoundly privileged circumstance we find ourselves in, caring about riding bikes well.
And along the way, I’m reminding myself to enjoy it, and to remember that there is a quality of play to every bike ride, no matter how structured. Play keeps me honest, too.
