There hasn’t been any motivation for a while now. I’m not sure where it has taken off to, but I rarely ever WANT to ride my bike anymore. I didn’t want to ride today, but I think other people know me better than I know myself, so I trusted their words.
My heart wasn’t in it, but I didn’t have a choice. My legs weren’t in it, but I didn’t have a choice. My head wasn’t in it, but when the climb began, I lost all thought. My mind was white noise, the stuff I love so much. My legs burned, my head ached, my hands became slippery with sweat…but my heart felt nothing. Suffering is a hell of a drug.
As soon as I reached the top, I immediately found myself going back to that place, and I knew I had to push myself. So I did. I don’t think I ever really had a moment to recover. I kept pushing, the pain got worse, my lungs felt small, but I kept pushing. Another climb. I could feel my chest fill up as I made it to the top. Keep riding. Don’t stop suffering. If my body screams out in agony, I can’t feel anything else. It all goes away.
It’s the most perfect, miserable, muscle-taxing therapy known to mankind. And I don’t want to ride tomorrow, but I probably will.