Back on the bike

The things that remain most clear in my mind about riding are the roads, and I remember in particular an amazing stretch called Fitzhugh, extending from Highway 290 almost thirty miles out to Johnson City. Two gas stations bounded miles of rural ranches and scorched hills LBJ would have known well. In the middle of Texas summer, we would often drive down and park at one end, load up on liquids, and ride to the other. After refueling, we would ride back. Once, when I was in the best shape of my life and wanted to prove my worth and readiness, I went out and back twice, upwards of 120 miles, and it was probably the most difficult day I've ever had in my life.

I trained and raced long distance triathlons for years, and when asked questions around why, I usually drift back to this ride, and countless others like it that defined this period of my life. I find so much about being a man integrally tied to physical exertion, and the fact is you learn something about yourself when that kind of exhaustion sets in. It's the internal conversations as you pedal along alone across a hundred miles of road, the places your depleted mind wanders. It's the confidence that comes when you feel strong and powerful in your body, an insurance policy against the stagnation of office monotony. Ultimately, I find it's how excuses just melt away when you realize all the many things that are possible, what the human body and spirit can actually achieve. That's contagious. It infects every aspect of your life, this resiliency, this vision, and I often wish the whole damn world knew what that feeling was like.

Recently, I clipped into a new bike and rode out on new roads, from Washington DC crossing the border into Maryland, down McArthur Blvd along the Potomac River. From there, a climb up to the city of Potomac, then left onto River Road and up a beautiful rural farm road called Berryville, one you'd never go down unless you live in one of its magnificent country houses. From Darnestown, you turn and head back home, down Turkey Foot, Travilah, and Glen, before shooting back out onto McArthur into Georgetown. The treasured stops at rugged gas stations, the internal fever that builds and stays well into the night, the getting to know your city in new ways, the hunger, the soreness, the sunburns, the exhaustion. I lost something in my life when I stopped spending hours on a bike - but I knew I'd be back. One hot day and 60 miles in June represent my long awaited return to the stage.