A pain in my ass but no love lost between me and my heart.
It starts in the ball of my foot- all the power comes from here. The ache isn't confined to this area though, it travels up and settles in my calves. Movement of these muscles causes more aching. My quads also hurt, but I can't tell if it's just my quads or my hips and glut's too. The muscle under my left shoulder blade is also talking to me and my headache results from the fixed position of my neck. What happened? It was all my own doing. I chose this. I knew it was coming but did not quite prepare myself for the ache. Had a hot bath already- momentary relief. Tried to numb the pain with a Hunters Dry. That only makes my headache worse and made my head feel heavier which made me neck sore too. Like I said- I did this to myself. I should have expected this.
Sunday morning. The preparation has lasted an hour. I have traveled, packed, unpacked, spread cream on, tied things up, dressed and undressed. My two cages are filled- one clear and one orange. I have wrestled with an air-spitting snake and said 'fuck' a few too many times. I miss the iron-man. He used to do all of this for me. But I am an independent woman. I. Can. Do. This.
Finally. I clip in. One. . . Two. Lever in- click.click.click.click. Cruising speed. My dad's voice echoes in my head "cold legs are dead legs. Spin spin spin". So I spin, my legs, gradually feeling lighter and more awake. Click. Spin spin spin. Click. Spin Spin. Click. Spin.
I know what is waiting for me. Does it make me insane to enter knowingly into pain? Am I a masochist? ** I can't be. Can I? As my legs warm up, and my mind clears of all the thoughts that usually buzz around, carelessly, inside it, my immediate surroundings come into clear focus. Bright apple-green. Sunny yellow. Aqua blue. But, although in focus, they remain in my sub-conscious. I do not allow myself to break concentration- there would be more pain that way. I look down at my wrist. 81%. It's not enough. The pistons that are my legs pump harder. I look down, force myself to breath and hope that the rhythm comes soon. I look down again. 92%. Better. I try to maintain this- knowing that I am a mere 9% from my limit. It's torture, but I love it. I thrive on the feeling that my body is working hard and yielding a direct and immediate result. I bask in the knowledge that my heart is beating strongly and serving it's purpose with gusto.
The rhythm comes and somehow whisks away my pain like a hug from a mother to a crying child. I am focused. I am no longer thinking about the effort it took for me to get here, but rather enjoying the feeling of pushing myself. There is a difference.
It is my third conquest of the day. I slow down. Un-clip. Take a breath. It is exhilarating to feel my heart pounding in my chest. It doesn't rattle, or beat for that matter. It jumps proudly- happy to do it's job so well. Happy to be needed, not only for love (a romantic notion of the heart) but for life. I grab the orange one out of it's cage and feel the warm liquid race down my throat as I suck from it's neck. As I drink my fill, I turn to admire my conquest. A long, winding snake made of gravel. It wasn't easy- but life never is.
"So all you are left with is pain now?" you say. Wrong. I am left with a piercing sense of achievement. The pain in my ass might throb for a few hours-yes. My head may be cursing my stupidity- correct. But my heart jumps up and down at the mere recollection of the day's exertion. It jumps and waves, shouting "pick me pick me!". For the next time I choose to clip in and spin, it won't be my head that gets me up the mountain. It will be my heart.
**( A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.)
Sunday morning. The preparation has lasted an hour. I have traveled, packed, unpacked, spread cream on, tied things up, dressed and undressed. My two cages are filled- one clear and one orange. I have wrestled with an air-spitting snake and said 'fuck' a few too many times. I miss the iron-man. He used to do all of this for me. But I am an independent woman. I. Can. Do. This.
Finally. I clip in. One. . . Two. Lever in- click.click.click.click. Cruising speed. My dad's voice echoes in my head "cold legs are dead legs. Spin spin spin". So I spin, my legs, gradually feeling lighter and more awake. Click. Spin spin spin. Click. Spin Spin. Click. Spin.
I know what is waiting for me. Does it make me insane to enter knowingly into pain? Am I a masochist? ** I can't be. Can I? As my legs warm up, and my mind clears of all the thoughts that usually buzz around, carelessly, inside it, my immediate surroundings come into clear focus. Bright apple-green. Sunny yellow. Aqua blue. But, although in focus, they remain in my sub-conscious. I do not allow myself to break concentration- there would be more pain that way. I look down at my wrist. 81%. It's not enough. The pistons that are my legs pump harder. I look down, force myself to breath and hope that the rhythm comes soon. I look down again. 92%. Better. I try to maintain this- knowing that I am a mere 9% from my limit. It's torture, but I love it. I thrive on the feeling that my body is working hard and yielding a direct and immediate result. I bask in the knowledge that my heart is beating strongly and serving it's purpose with gusto.
The rhythm comes and somehow whisks away my pain like a hug from a mother to a crying child. I am focused. I am no longer thinking about the effort it took for me to get here, but rather enjoying the feeling of pushing myself. There is a difference.
It is my third conquest of the day. I slow down. Un-clip. Take a breath. It is exhilarating to feel my heart pounding in my chest. It doesn't rattle, or beat for that matter. It jumps proudly- happy to do it's job so well. Happy to be needed, not only for love (a romantic notion of the heart) but for life. I grab the orange one out of it's cage and feel the warm liquid race down my throat as I suck from it's neck. As I drink my fill, I turn to admire my conquest. A long, winding snake made of gravel. It wasn't easy- but life never is.
"So all you are left with is pain now?" you say. Wrong. I am left with a piercing sense of achievement. The pain in my ass might throb for a few hours-yes. My head may be cursing my stupidity- correct. But my heart jumps up and down at the mere recollection of the day's exertion. It jumps and waves, shouting "pick me pick me!". For the next time I choose to clip in and spin, it won't be my head that gets me up the mountain. It will be my heart.
**( A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.)
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