I
love it. I absolutely love it.
Leaping
out into water I am suspended in mid-air. Somewhere between the sky and the
earth in a dreamy world of flying, gliding, rhythmic twisting through space. My
lungs burn and my chest swells as I climb to the broken mirror of the beneath
the surface. The water is both resistance and support. The roar of broken water
cascades across my face as I turn to breathe. A gasp for air, the splashing of
water and then the muted din of my strokes is all I hear as I twist and strain
against fluidic resistance.
The
rhythm of the bike is a steady rasping of rubber tires on pavement, the harsh
inhalation of ragged breath. Human powered machinery mirrors respiration. Revolutions
are ceaseless, broken only with the sharp clicking of shifting gears. Air
rushes across face, ears, the roaring passage of distance and time. Muscles
aching, the acidic burning of tissue swelling in thighs, calves and shoulders
as the road is slowly devoured by the amaranthine whispering of tires against
asphalt.
The
rhythmic beat on the pavement of running feet, the tingle of burning air in my
lungs, my chest pumping, compressing, expanding, my arms swinging and pumping
in the air. When I’m running on a road, a long, flat, black, hot, asphalt,
searing heat, shimmering road, sweat pours down my back, chest and arms. My
forehead drips into my eyes; I wipe them off with a sweaty, dirty hand. The
heat rippling in the air reflects the organic combustion in my body. Oxygen is
consumed, converted and ignited into precious energy and dirty exhaust is
forced out through dry, chapped lips.
The
cacophony of broken water is the crashing cymbal of excited melody. The
interminable cadence of my bike resonates through my legs and arms, a harpist
plucking along my gears as the road rises and falls. The rhythm of running are
drums tapping out an unremitting beat through my body.
It’s
all music; percussion and winds together devour the miles and minutes and
hours. It’s the rhythm that captures me, beats out a pattern in my body and
mind and lifts me outside my daily rigors and self-imposed anxieties. There is
a freedom that I find in the pain and soreness and prolonged endurance that is
fleeting in what is otherwise a daily mundane existence. It lifts burdens from
my mind and allows me to think clearly and truly enjoy the unique phenomenon of
just being alive. The focus required to keep moving, the priority of just
breathing each breath completely to gain as much oxygen as possible is a
reminder of what keeps us alive. The trivial concerns of a life far removed
from survival are forgotten and for a few seconds or minutes or hours, I am
truly alive on the edge of a pure, primal and guiltless existence.
Of
course I keep going.
Heating-coil
in the pool has been broken for a month, temperature hovers around 65 F, but I
am still hitting my laps three days a week.
I
can’t bike anywhere here, but I endure the static cardio room and the uncomfortable chafing of the indoor bikes by holding on to the expectation of the
amazing rides that await me when I get home.
My
feet are starting to look like a bad Halloween prank, but I won’t stop running.
Especially,
when I remember why I’m training so hard.
