Fun Hurts!

Today, I’m writing not because I have something substantially meaningful to tell the world. Because the reality is that even if I had anything like that on my mind, no one reads this journal anyway. So, what’s the difference? But right now I’m desperate for the process, not the outcome.

I always want to write more. I think about that daily, but I rarely have ideas beyond race reports and other bike-related stuff, which can get old even to myself. And on top of that, I also have a history of writing some stupid crap and then having the audacity to post it for an audience broad enough to learn the lesson. What’s the lesson? Being more self-critical, I suppose. So, I figured, I’ll write about why today is so special. For a moment, I feel like I can overcome the fear of oversharing.

Our small town got its first substantial snowfall of the season. It’s always special. Even if it’s already the beginning of December in the Ski Country, and we haven’t started the winter season yet. So yeah, anticipation would be too weak a word to describe the situation. So, when I told my friend that I had to plow the driveway three times today, I wasn’t complaining. I was bragging about this cozy attribute of rural life.

And once you come back inside, it just makes sense to make a coffee, get a blanket, grab a notebook, and write a story. Fortunately, modern MacBooks fit into this setting just as well as a Moleskine would do. So, I’d go with that.

The story is about time. Not the time that has been carved out of the daily cycle of work, family, and training. But the one that has been forcefully given. The true offseason. Only a week ago, the weather around here was so unusually pleasant that I would’ve rather jumped on my bike and gotten lost for a couple of hours. A few weeks from now, if in the same situation, I’d perhaps throw my twigs into the trunk and go hit the slopes. But right here, right now, I can’t do shit. Well, I tried running, but that was so embarrassing I didn’t even post it on Strava. And, in a nutshell, what I wanna say about this time is that I’m wholeheartedly grateful for it! Praised be the boredom.

The roses...

It’s like clipping a junkie to a heating radiator. Same concept and similar outcomes. Detox for the body that tends to be in a permanent state of exhaustion. Reflection for the mind that is otherwise too obsessed with performance right now, or tomorrow, or at the race next weekend. The only difference is that after everything is said and done, a junkie-me goes straight back to his dopamine dealer. Because it’s not a cure, I don’t want to be cured. But it’s a welcome medicine to keep the “bad habits” sustainable. It feels weird calling a physically active lifestyle bad, even taken in quotes, but in the context of an imposed recovery, it’s a “too much of a good thing” kind of situation that I’m talking about.

Training-wise, I’m not in a full OFF-mode either. After a short break for friends and family on Thanksgiving week, I'm already back to training. But now, being free from any self-imposed commitments, I can switch things up (or worse) to no regret. And somehow it feels like fun for a moment, and not like an endless, daunting grind.

... and the thorns

It’s not all pink ponies and sparkles. Self-reflection ruthlessly reveals everything, and the dark side found its way out.

Even though Mt Herman Rd begins pretty much in my backyard, in the years prior, I’d ride it up maybe 3 or 4 times a year. In 2025, I did that climb too many times to count. Sometimes it’s a necessary effort to earn the turns. But it’s not always that way. And when I got there once again in the middle of October, one of the fellow HS coaches asked me what I was finding up there. Serenity, I replied, sincerely. But the nature of serenity implies solitude, doesn't it?

Overabundance, when applied to the things you love the most, can be a curse in disguise. As calm and peaceful as it is, loneliness can be painful too. And it hurts the most when you pause numbing it, willfully or not, and admit its existence.