LC4CARL
01-15-2008, 06:42 PM
Color
Grey clouds the corners of my mind. “I don’t have time for this.” I think flatly to myself. Looking over my shoulder, as I pull out of the driveway, all I can think about is the business of the day.
Am I running away; perhaps from work, responsibility or myself? Maybe from the mental capability of thinking about anything else, seeking solitude from everything but the motion and the effort of the journey? Or is it death I aim to escape? There is still youth in these veins yet. I will not lye down and be quiet.
Or maybe I am chasing after something? Seeking the “rush?” Taking a chance or a risk not available while staring at a flat-screen monitor or operating a weed-wacker? Or is it perfection that I seek? With all the compromises of a lifetime, to do something for the joy of it, to the best of your capability is so satisfying.
As I push against all these things, the cool breeze calls to my soul and says: “Come fly with me, let us be one.” But I feel slow and clumsy to start. There is awkwardness in my motion and the pace is slower than my effort would suggest. Time goes by and my body and mind start to warm up to the task. Speed will not be forced, but must be courted. Like a date pushed too hard; not nurturing the relationship, not reading the signs, can result in a regrettable ending.
My motions start “clicking” now as each corner smoothly transitions into the next. My tires communicate “Hey, pay attention!” as I lean forward to get a stronger drive out of the turns. My body feels strong, and my lungs deep, as my practice is paying off. Without conscious effort, my body positions itself as I extend the known for the unknown.
The constraints placed on one by society and rational thinking give way to an explosive, adrenaline-crazed, push for speed if for no other reason than to reawaken a sense of being alive. In a testosterone-charged, tunnel-vision inducing, blitz I am transported to a place where the self disappears. Using this gift of talent; where the many “pieces” gel into one unconscious effort, a certain soul-satisfying tranquility warms me from within.
Making the halfway point, I question myself, if only for a moment: “Have I pushed too hard?” I focus on form and efficiency as I maintain a maximum pace. Out here we are alone, succeed or fail. But being out here is not merely a conveyance to a place, but a conveyance to a frame of mind. As my muscles fatigue, an occasional bobble slips into the rhythm. “Be smooth, Carl. Look ahead.”
Coasting silently into the driveway, chest heaving, I pull off my helmet and wait for the world to catch up. “I have done it well,” I think to myself, as I remove my roller blades and the “color” of my world returns to my senses.
Grey clouds the corners of my mind. “I don’t have time for this.” I think flatly to myself. Looking over my shoulder, as I pull out of the driveway, all I can think about is the business of the day.
Am I running away; perhaps from work, responsibility or myself? Maybe from the mental capability of thinking about anything else, seeking solitude from everything but the motion and the effort of the journey? Or is it death I aim to escape? There is still youth in these veins yet. I will not lye down and be quiet.
Or maybe I am chasing after something? Seeking the “rush?” Taking a chance or a risk not available while staring at a flat-screen monitor or operating a weed-wacker? Or is it perfection that I seek? With all the compromises of a lifetime, to do something for the joy of it, to the best of your capability is so satisfying.
As I push against all these things, the cool breeze calls to my soul and says: “Come fly with me, let us be one.” But I feel slow and clumsy to start. There is awkwardness in my motion and the pace is slower than my effort would suggest. Time goes by and my body and mind start to warm up to the task. Speed will not be forced, but must be courted. Like a date pushed too hard; not nurturing the relationship, not reading the signs, can result in a regrettable ending.
My motions start “clicking” now as each corner smoothly transitions into the next. My tires communicate “Hey, pay attention!” as I lean forward to get a stronger drive out of the turns. My body feels strong, and my lungs deep, as my practice is paying off. Without conscious effort, my body positions itself as I extend the known for the unknown.
The constraints placed on one by society and rational thinking give way to an explosive, adrenaline-crazed, push for speed if for no other reason than to reawaken a sense of being alive. In a testosterone-charged, tunnel-vision inducing, blitz I am transported to a place where the self disappears. Using this gift of talent; where the many “pieces” gel into one unconscious effort, a certain soul-satisfying tranquility warms me from within.
Making the halfway point, I question myself, if only for a moment: “Have I pushed too hard?” I focus on form and efficiency as I maintain a maximum pace. Out here we are alone, succeed or fail. But being out here is not merely a conveyance to a place, but a conveyance to a frame of mind. As my muscles fatigue, an occasional bobble slips into the rhythm. “Be smooth, Carl. Look ahead.”
Coasting silently into the driveway, chest heaving, I pull off my helmet and wait for the world to catch up. “I have done it well,” I think to myself, as I remove my roller blades and the “color” of my world returns to my senses.