I once knew a man, a fine looking man, who married a woman who rubbed the whole world the wrong way, and perhaps because of this manner, had a face we all winced at as well. "I laaaarve my wife," he would always say, "my beauoooodiful wife," like someone psyching himself to eat a bowl of live worms. At the risk of sounding like him, I would like to say, I love my commute.
From left: gracing pedestrians on way to work; menstrual moments by harbour; my weekly 2hr ride, along the Fernleigh Track.
Being on sabbatical, and researching and writing a book (between 15 minute sprays to my live journal here), I have not been riding to work. Once or twice per week I take my big heavy bike for a 50km round trip to Belmont from Newcastle, to keep myself fit and sane. I race on the weekends. I ride to do errands. But I haven’t been doing my 30km round trip daily commute, and I miss it. I miss the rhythm of strong days and weak days. There is a biomedical science type explanation, that quite frankly bores me like cricket, but anyone who rides daily doesn’t need to see charts, to know, that some days you just want to accelerate away from every stop, thrash every headwind, test the strength of your chain and cranks on every hill. You can’t help it. The animal inside wants to feel pain, then more pain. Whether through soccer, or surfing, or at the gym, or whatever your poison, most fit-to-live humans do what I’m talking about a few times a week. Sport, I believe it is called. I love the fact that the cycling lifestyle, lets you do it each day, and get to work. And the strong days need the flat days, for contrast.
I believe I started writing this, because I had cause, to head out to the office yesterday and today. Now I would sound like my old friend if I told you, I laaarve my office, and all the beauoooodiful people I work with. Oh they’re fine, of course, but you guys are better.
xxx Dr. Behooving.