Detachment

This one baffles me and I'm going to talk it out to see if I can make sense of it all.

Have you ever known someone who is completely detached from their body? I have - a couple of them actually. They have this ability to completely separate mind from their body and push their body beyond normal physical limitations. This mental strength is so strong that it ignores warning signs. And you can bet money on their body being in complete knots. Literally a ball of pent up muscle, nerves and on over drive, constantly. Bordering a blow up with every sustained effort, on the mind and body continue on in complete disharmony. I sit and watch in complete amazement as the two forces battle one another and often wonder what things would be like if they were in harmony and stopped fighting against one another.

More than anything it makes me take a hard look at myself. Both mentally and physically. For every time I think they will blow up or self destruct, they don't and continue on. It makes me want to reach my goals more than ever. Yet faced with the choice - do you risk your own safety in the name of sport? Or walk the fine line between risk and performance?

There are many ways to do something. You can try and force things, push and shove your way to the front of the line, or you can take the natural process and go with the flow, never settling for mediocrity but instead increasing your preference for stellar performances. And of course there's everything in between. This slower, methodical approach is the one I've been taking from the get go and sometimes, although I know this approach suites my personality and character more, I often wonder what it would be like if I started forcing things.

Do I want to be detached from my body more? Or has that lesson scared me from previous experiences... such as my torn ACL in high school and its following 4 surgeries, or near broken noses in boxing? How about near brain injury? Hamstring pulls and Achilles tears? Near epic experiences in Yosemite Valley? Did that condition me long ago to not push the line of risk vs. performance?

Since working with Jennie, I've worked on pushing my limits. Both mentally and physically. Hitting the wall and going beyond has taken hundreds, if not thousands of efforts. And the break through started to happen when I was able to continue pushing once in the dark tunnel of pain, where every ounce of your body is telling your brain to stop, yet you continue on. I often wonder if this push is taking time off my life. That with each effort or attempt I am literally shaving off time. That's a risk I'm willing to take.

I suppose it's one thing to push your own limits. To stretch your own boundaries and see what you can do. But the thing I don't get is what to do about someone who's forceful nature is starting to force you? Their actions and pursuit of sport is a "oh well!" approach and is hurled toward you whether you like it or not. Suddenly one of the variables associated with the risk of taking corners at speed on tiny little tires increases ten fold when someone is forcing themselves to corner, instead of letting the bike be an extension of the body. We all sign that USCF waiver form for every race we compete in... acknowledging the risk of serious injury or death by partaking in the event. And I guess up until this point I've had a naive reliance that all of my competitors compete with a code of conduct to avoid unnecessary roughness and don't put themselves on the brink of injury for some silly bike race. Now faced with the reality of having someone play rough alarms me. I'm pretty sure it alarms the entire peloton.

Does it prevent me from racing? No. But it sharpens my awareness of racing and training in a harmonious approach and I get fulfillment from having the privilege to race with a team and competitors who feel the same way. Not from winning at all costs.

Back to the original idea though... witnessing someone bend over backwards and force things stirs up several emotions. First there's my strong belief in the natural state of things. That everything happens for a reason and for the limited time we have on this planet, our job is to make the most out of it. Having a serious injury early in life taught me the invaluable lesson of patience. And that forcing things and asking "why me?" questions are counterproductive to living a life of acceptance. Ryan's death taught me and continues to teach me many things in that regard. Second, why wouldn't everyone want to live a life full of harmony? Why struggle against the natural law of things? Sure you can have preferences but the moment you start demanding expectations - well, that will surely set you up for failure.

Bottom line, it takes all sorts to make the world go round.