I turn my back and he screams.
I turn back and he smiles.
I attempt to put a spell on him and he gently pushes my hand away.
The battle has been epic, long... I'm weary.
Finally, he rests.
Exhausted I lie down and turn the light off.
He laughs.
He laughs for the first time in his life.
Three months old and already a trickster.
Cycling
Cycling has always been one of my passions; it still is and I assume it will always be.
When I was just a child I remember watching in wonder how people could get onto a small machine with wheels and move so freely and quickly along the road. The bike was something magical for me.
Learning to ride the bike was a long process of frustration after frustration. It didn't come easy to me and my brother didn't want to help me.
When I finally learned it was thanks to my brother. Well... sort of. He was sitting with his friends, just hanging out, doing nothing. Being the annoying little brother I asked him to help me do a full circle around the block. He simply had to run behind me with his hand firm in the seat so I didn't lose balance. After a lot of nagging he finally agreed to help me.
I circled the full block, enjoying the ride, with confidence. When I turned the final corner I saw my brother sitting with his friends, hanging out, doing nothing.
The realisation that I rode without any support, on my own, made me happy. It was a victory, I could finally do it. I mastered the bike.
As soon as that realisation hit me I lost balance and hit the ground.
I think I spent most of my childhood riding the bike here, there and everywhere.
In my teens I joined a cycling team. It became a lot more serious. We trained in the velodrome in San Sebastian where I had seen a lot of my idols compete. Most days I would ride 50km, sometimes more.
The problem with being part of a team and taking part in competitions was that I lost the freedom I had always enjoyed. Competition cycling dampened my passion for pedalling.
Two years later I left the team. I wasn't a great rider, I didn't have a competitive spirit and the passion came back.
My fondest memories are of those years after I left the team. I would ride the bike most days, every Saturday and Sunday I would wake up around 6AM and I was out on the road with the first light of morning. I was free. It was just the road and I.
Still to this day, that's what I love most. When I'm on that bike I'm on a different planet, a different dimension. My head clears. Nothing matters, there doesn't need to be a reason for doing it.
No competition, no goal, no glory.
Just the road and I.
When I was just a child I remember watching in wonder how people could get onto a small machine with wheels and move so freely and quickly along the road. The bike was something magical for me.
Learning to ride the bike was a long process of frustration after frustration. It didn't come easy to me and my brother didn't want to help me.
When I finally learned it was thanks to my brother. Well... sort of. He was sitting with his friends, just hanging out, doing nothing. Being the annoying little brother I asked him to help me do a full circle around the block. He simply had to run behind me with his hand firm in the seat so I didn't lose balance. After a lot of nagging he finally agreed to help me.
I circled the full block, enjoying the ride, with confidence. When I turned the final corner I saw my brother sitting with his friends, hanging out, doing nothing.
The realisation that I rode without any support, on my own, made me happy. It was a victory, I could finally do it. I mastered the bike.
As soon as that realisation hit me I lost balance and hit the ground.
I think I spent most of my childhood riding the bike here, there and everywhere.
In my teens I joined a cycling team. It became a lot more serious. We trained in the velodrome in San Sebastian where I had seen a lot of my idols compete. Most days I would ride 50km, sometimes more.
The problem with being part of a team and taking part in competitions was that I lost the freedom I had always enjoyed. Competition cycling dampened my passion for pedalling.
Two years later I left the team. I wasn't a great rider, I didn't have a competitive spirit and the passion came back.
My fondest memories are of those years after I left the team. I would ride the bike most days, every Saturday and Sunday I would wake up around 6AM and I was out on the road with the first light of morning. I was free. It was just the road and I.
Still to this day, that's what I love most. When I'm on that bike I'm on a different planet, a different dimension. My head clears. Nothing matters, there doesn't need to be a reason for doing it.
No competition, no goal, no glory.
Just the road and I.
A Constant
In our life, in our world, in our reality, there is always one thing that is constant. It never changes, it never gets tired, it never stops; it's time.
Time always marches ahead.
Sometimes it seems to move fast, sometimes too slowly, dragging a moment in time far beyond what is comfortable to us; but that is merely our perception of time. No more.
Time always moves with a constant speed. Step by step, slowly, but always forward at the same speed which is beyond our comprehension.
Sometimes it feels like we are running behind time, trying to catch up with her, but that is never the case. Time is always by our side, with us, within us.
Time doesn't run out, it is merely our perception.
Time the only constant in our life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)