Why am I here?

I don't have the body fat, the hematocrit level, and mitochondrial efficacy of a cyclist (moreso relative to my past years as a cyclist rather than measured against any goal posts of what "real" cyclists have). I still, however, have an entirely unatrophied love of cycling.  That counts for something, it really does.  A lot of my riding time is smiling time.

Other pillars of my existence, like a house and a girlfriend, have occupied a more abstract space in the last year.  They're present but inaccessible.  I've got a career (another pillar) that's been funny lately - I haven't had a "bonus review" in two years; instead I get a phone call with a few milliseconds of international delay making it mildly awkward, at times when my mind is a world away, that contains a few minutes of banter before "the number" of beer tokens I've earned is revealed, which abstractly enter a bank account a few days later.  Its there but not tangible in the exact same way it used to be.

Bikes have never been inaccessible or intangible - they're available at 3am for a last ride up Pla d'Adet when I want to fit in one last ride before heading home on Hincapie's climb of triumph, and on any rainy or snowy weekend at home year round my whole life. 

This start will hurt, but maybe not as much as a few years back while finishing off an antibiotic cycle and riding with Jon.  It may be hot, but chances are it won't feel as shocking after a week in Colombia.  It'll empty me out, which is entirely what I need, maybe I can even refuel modestly more sparsely than expenditure and come out leaner after 7 days. 

I know I've always been able to improve as a stage race goes on (or at least, cumulatively crumble less).  I suspect it's just my life metabolism and pace (used interchangeably almost) that likes keeping it pinned.  Pacing for only myself at BCBR possibly allows the avoidance of creating a massive hole to dig out of.  With a week in France scheduled later, might actually allow participation in TR3 in a manner of moderate fitness.

Although the BCBR's incomparable trial quality is a draw, it isn't even really what I'm looking forward to most.  I crave the white space of a fried brain, with burning legs and lungs as focal points.  I don't know if its an endorphin high or a temporary de-volution to an animal's mind, but its my favourite place bar none.  I don't find much clarity in the white space, but conversely, the few things that are there make them seem very important.  It's distilled.  We live with a pumping heart and a breathing set of lungs.  Visits to the trifecta of hell, purgatory and heaven are facilitated in quantity.

This won't be about standings.  I always prioritized riding as best I could with someone such that we'd then be able to share a life long bond of a week of sufferage.  In those, our unspoken goal was usually to be at or near the dividing line between sponsored teams and hobbyists.  Being "beaten" isn't bad, it's not trying that's worse.  I'd rather try (and be here) than not.  Refusal to fail has a different glory than success - not the least of which is that I can actually achieve at refusal to fail.  I don't want to fail to race - this was in fact my last race - a year ago before an even more intense than usual whirlwind of work swept me up last fall.  It's sentimental that way, and I don't want that part of my life to become abstract to me as well, it's the only one I specifically control.