addiction

Sometimes there is a slow realization of things down in my gut. They seem to boil up, bursting as they reach air with whispers of these feelings. POP..”B”....POP...”soaring”...POP...”happy”. As the realization of what this actually means starts to come into focus that sinking feeling washes over me again.

I am addicted. Totally unable to control myself, need to calm the nerves....just a little won't hurt, will it?Yes, with this broken arm I finally have to admit my debilitating addiction to cycling. I always thought I could stop if I wanted to but I now know that it is just not the case. I am getting irritable as none other and am really at the point where I don't want to look at pretty bikes as it makes me angry (stupid chrome bike with full campy groupset..NO you are NOT pretty...argh no good bike).

To put a rainbow over this situation I get to talk to the specialist this week about the chances of surgery...which since I'm now talking with him instead of the normal doctor and had a second catscan I'm thinking the news does not involve bunnies hopping in circles singing to me joyously.

But back to the trouble at hand. After the multiple accidents you would of thought I would have fessed up to this addiction by now. Or maybe when I started collecting a herd of bicycles? Luckily I was always surrounded by someone more thoroughly engulfed in this devil called cycling (“well So and So has fifteen bikes so I must not have a problem!”). Yes it is a slippery slope that I slid down and now that I am banned for an unallotted amount of time I'm understanding how much my life has become about bikes. Now, just maybe part of this epiphany is also because I've spent 16 of the last 22 months cycle touring (okay really 14 months cause of the other broken arm).

HOLY CRAP until I typed that I really I forgot it was so much time.

Anyway, the thing with cycle touring is that it gets under your skin in so many ways. I think that it will be a long time until I understand all the ways it's helped me grow as a person. The places I've been, the emotions I dealt with, the challenges I conquered, all of it is so amazing. It's also why even though some days I go to bed early and put on an awesome impression of a recluse the next day I force myself to get out of bed and continue on. It's just one more pedal stroke up the long gradual climb. I know that a broken arm is nothing compared to what a lot of people I know are dealing with and once again I have to think about how lucky I am. How much worse all of my falls could've been and coming out with a couple of broken arms is by no means fun (sometimes funny) I still know it's a small price to pay for all the experiences I've gained.

So I suppose there are a lot worse addictions to have.