As a racer, one’s relationship with cycling falls into a continuous rhythm of love and hate.
There are times when the sport seems nothing more than a bleak pursuit, a foolish game, that drags one out to pedal endlessly on empty roads. The pain is acute and the bike uncomfortable as each hour drags on in an exhausting effort for nought.
Other days, the kilometres fly by and one feels sound in body and in mind while every pedal stroke is a worthwhile contribution towards the determined destiny.
In such a consuming affair, the dark hours come inevitably. To escape, one must stay balanced and disciplined and ride, passing kilometre after kilometre on the bike until one’s body transforms, one’s focus narrows and one’s dreams take shape.
I am back in love now; there are races to dream about and every day that we draw closer to the classics I gain impetus on my bike. Cycling is a beautiful sport; struggle is necessary but commitment to the bike brings rare and ethereal rewards.
