Zen and the Art of Speedskating

Morning sun bright, spilling into the Salt Lake Valley. Riding into work via my normal route, a line appears on the asphalt that has not been there before.

Hmmmm… I start daydreaming, thinking of the inner lane at the 400m oval. My pace picks up. The line is a guide, it’s the edge of a fast lap in a race, the line is the edge of my life.

Next thing I know, I’m clipping along race pace, that pleasure-pain Masohedonist part of the athletes brain alive & glittering-

It’s the last lap of the 1000m at Masters sprint worlds, I’m earning the strength for it right here, right now.

Then I look up.

This new bike lane is being created only moments ahead of me.

Lines to follow are only useful to a certain extent. Daydreaming about racing is only useful to a certain extent. Sometimes the lines disappear, or the smooth road ends, and you must forge your own path. Not just the road less traveled, but at times you must make your own road.

Arriving at work, I dismount off the bike, lungs still tinged with fire, and unsteadily clack into the office in my cycling shoes, starting another day at the keyboard.

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