V for Velocity

Recently I finished a book called The Rider, which apparently is a cycling classic. And for good reason. Translated from the Dutch and written in Holland in 1978, it covers a one hundred and fifty kilometer race in one hundred and fifty pages. Although, one page does not equal one kilometer.

I had to eat immediately after finishing the book. I felt exhausted, like I was the one who had pushed myself so damn hard. Written in an enjoyable and addicting style, it is far from a boring read. I could easily identify with the struggle and sometimes strange internal workings of the rider's mind. It's difficult to provide a picture of how this book does it, but you are there. You are in the race, and you're plotting and giving everything you are to win it. It's very honest and real.

And for some reason, very inspiring. Not in a hokey "If You Put Your Mind To It You Can Do Anything" sort of way. It's not that kind of book. The only thing I can liken it to is hearing stories of how your grandfather worked his ass off and rose up out of the badlands to be one of the most intelligent and accomplished men you know. That story is not aimed at you. It's progression had nothing to do with you or inspiration. But simply by seeing what another person has gone through, you want to do more with yourself.

So lately in honor of The Rider, I push harder. I hardly check the weather or the wind. Somewhere during that book I decided weather wouldn't matter anymore. I lightened the load in my bag and I dress in less layers. I have slowly been slipping into Pansydom and it's time to climb out. The body is the most beautiful of machines and art, and I have been coddling, neglecting, and wasting it.

I've also decided to use my daily commutes as training. Training for what? Who knows. Being fast. Sustained exertion. Endurance. I'll start keeping track of my times, all that junk. I've arbitrarily hit upon twenty minutes as the first benchmark for my seven mile commute, including traffic lights and all they entail. I'm going to start learning how to sprint and the apparent benefits of handlebar drops. Then I'll create another benchmark, and another.

Some mornings it's rough. My face is the prow of this particular ship and tears always streak it when I first get moving. I figure my eyes either get used to the cold wind or dry out after about seven minutes. Stop lights are enemies that play sick games with my legs. Sometimes it feels like I'm moving at five miles per hour. I push on, trying various pedal positions and styles, crouching down, changing my hands on the bars, pushing with different leg muscles. Nothing seems to help for very long.

But still I somehow get to work within roughly twenty minutes. Horseshoes and hand grenades.

Hey! You! Pick up a book!

- David