[velotel]

but the best genes on the market won’t do squat for a body ignored and abused. Like leaving a 275 GTB abandoned near the ocean for years. It’ll always be a Ferrari but returning it into what it once was won’t happen.

I’ve been lucky. Born with an athletic body and an intelligent enough mind (but not so much that it’s ever threatened my appreciation in being alive, also never overused though perhaps at times a bit abused), born into a post-war (as in WWII, one needs to be specific now given all the wars) middle class family in a society rich with doors to open, and in some mysterious manner gifted with a hernia that at literally the last instant miraculously kept me from being sent to Vietnam to become another drugged out soldier flopping around in the rice fields until I od’d on drugs or a mine.

But where chance really took me in her arms and gave me some mind-warping love was when I quit college to go skiing in Colorado. That’s where I discovered the joy of living and playing on the edge. Also discovered how cool smoking pot can be. Skiing in turn launched me into the worlds of rock climbing, mountaineering, running, cycling, and discovering what a marvel the human body can be. And that if you want the body to perform, you sure as hell better take care of it.

Also discovered what a spiritual and physical high skiing on the edge can generate. Later realized that that high isn’t the result of skiing itself but of attaining a level of focus where the entire being becomes the moment. Meditation, music, dance, etc. get people there too but for me it came and still comes through physical activity dosed with hints of lurking danger.

None of which happens with a physique abused and ignored.

I hate exercise. Boring as hell. Once signed up for a program of weights and machines at the athletic club in Crested Butte. Didn’t last a month. The only thing interesting was watching the women doing aerobics in tights. Which quickly got old too and that was that for my exercise sojourn.

There’s no way I’d ever say a training program wouldn’t provide me with all kinds of benes, but the fact is the time I have left in my life is way too limited to waste any of it on training. If I have the time to train, I have the time to ride. Not even a contest. I ride. Four, five times a week all year long, except when there’s snow or ice on the roads, mostly short rides, forty-five minutes, an hour, an hour and a half, but intense, full throttle out of the gate. Note full throttle refers to my effort, not the speed with which I advance. And once a week, if possible, a bigger ride, three, four, maybe five hours, sometimes more. Invariably with lots of climbing. And some dirt when possible.

Almost always the traditional burning of a bowl before rolling. A wee pinch. Doesn’t make me any faster, or I don’t think it does but I don’t pay attention to my speed anyway. The effects of the bowl combine with the effects of my physical efforts on my brain and soul, creating this symphony of rhythm and movement that I lose myself in, jamming to music I can only feel.

I don’t train but I do pay attention to what I eat (mostly organic but definitely no food nazi), good wine (within limited financial horizons) in moderation (though by today’s medical standards I drink way too much, which apparently is more than one glass a day by their thinking! Bunch of mad hatters in the medical world today!) plus in the evening from time to time a bit of single malt. The single malt started after turning 60. I also do thirty, forty minutes of yoga and exercises most every morning. Nothing serious, seems effective anyway. Started that when I was 22 or so but with lots of lapses (sometimes extended lapses, the arrogance of youth saying who needs it) over the years but with semi-fanatical regularity since I finally realized I wasn’t young anymore. It’s now a rare morning I don’t do the routine, and if I don’t, I miss it. Plus when you get old (I’m currently at 74) it’s way easier maintaining some form than regaining the form. Losing form when you’re old sucks.

I’m really, really going to miss riding my bike when I’m dead but like I said, even better is that sublime state riding creates, muscles driving the bike, plunging off cols, leaning and carving turns, jamming over single-tracks, jigging through forests. Like being a kid again. That’s the incentive that keeps me fit, to keep dancing on that edge, pushing myself, plunging into the intensity zone, losing myself in the joy of living. Or maybe finding myself in the joy of living is closer to the truth.

Hell if I know what it is. Bunch of mental masturbation trying to define it because when I’m in that zone, in the flow, eyes lasering on the line, the body following, twitching over and around obstacles my eyes have already left behind, surfing the momentum wave, knowing the slightest hesitation, the tiniest crack in the intensity will instantly shatter the delicate balance, leaving me stumbling like a drunk in a forest of black. There is no understanding in the zone, there’s only the moment, a moment that can last for hours, but still just a moment, a flash scorching the soul.

I’m not into giving advice. People do what they want to do. They also usually only want advice that agrees with what they’ve already decided. But that said I will say that if you’re young, learn how to do some yoga or something similar. Then learn how to discipline yourself into doing it regularly. Your body will love you for it. Actually that’s true no matter your age but if you’re old you’ve probably already worked out what you’re willing to do, and not do, so words like these are pointless.