Now, this might, or might not, come as a bit of a shock to you: in 362 days, I’ll turn 50. That’s almost eighteen thousand days I’ve been living, breathing, and learning here on this planet. So the big question is: what have I learned over these thousands of days. If you’ve been following this blog for a while, which I hope you have, you’ll know that I’ve learned that you can never lose those elusive seven pounds, that you should always wear sunscreen, and that you should never underestimate a wiry old rider. But there’s more.
I’ve made some good choices; I’ve made some bad choices. I’ve developed wonderful friendships around the world, tried my utmost to help people when they need my help, and shared so many fantastic experiences with people I love so much. On the flip side, I’ve probably drank too much, definitely smoked too much when I was younger, and struggled for years to maintain a steady pace through life. I can say though, I never did drugs, except for the occasional toke in my late teens. But then again, maybe I should have done?
Enough with all this lamenting, I hear you say. Have I learned anything of true value? That’s what you want to know, assuming you’ve stuck with me up to this point. Well, yes, and it’s this: speed on a bike is like beauty. We spend our twenties, thirties, and sometimes beyond, trying to be perfect: lose a few pounds, crunch those abs, pump some iron, style and preen and polish because we will look better, more handsome, more beautiful one day. Of course, we all discover the truth: we will never be better looking than we are today. And speed on the bike is just like that. I’ve spent too many years piling on the excuses: I’ve not done much recently, I’m a little off form at the moment, next session will be different — you know the kind of thing. Well, next season will be different. I’ll probably climb more slowly, suffer more on false flats, and get dropped more frequently. Yes, if I put in the training, put in the miles, things might be different. But, for the moment, I’m happy to accept that most definitely next year will be different, and maturity will, just like it has done for George Clooney, make me more attractive.
