For Life Is Quite Absurd

Twelve days from now will be the anniversary of my first big race. My raciversary.

It’s only been two years, but racing has quickly become a focus of my time and life. Some days it is like being in a funhouse: in one mirror, racing and athletics are integral to who I am now. It’s important to me to keep making physical progress, to make my body stronger (faster would be OK too).

In another mirror, they are an expensive and timeconsuming hobby, a luxury indulgence. Not essential. And inconvenient and irrelevant to my domestic life partner.

I could get just as much health benefit out of cycling, running, or lifting weights for an hour most days, without focus on goals or races. I could make domestic goals the anchor of my time management. As much as I love running or biking on singletrack, it isn’t helping us pay our bills or keep me in any better shape than if I ran and rode in our neighborhood.

I love racing.

I love being active with specific race demands as the carrot for specific physical changes.

I love my bikes.

I love my legs that I get to run around on.

I love being so in love with my time, because it didn’t used to be that way, and I know how quickly life can turn off that spigot. I truly hate that there is such a gap between most people’s lives and their being able to love their time. That isn’t fair and isn’t good. Many days my priorities give my own spouse a bigger gap to try to close. That sucks. Anyway.

I love telling you all, my seven loyal readers, about racing and riding and running and swimming and trails and dancing Zumba and whatnot. I love knowing that more than one person has joyfully thrown themselves at these things, using me as the mirror. That’s an honor.

Just please, remind me next year that if I’m committed to races in July and August, they may start feeling, to both me and my spouse, like an unpaid parking ticket.

Perspective is a mug's game; pick one. But balance is a skill worth mastering.

Today's Tune: