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By Steve Buzzard
Pain has become my friend.
It tells me I’m alive. I could be doing nothing, but I choose ride. I ride. I
hurt. I live.
I ride through the burn and pain of a climb. I recover and climb again. And
again. Each time is a triumph. I am doing something I want to do. I am stronger
with every pedal stroke. The pain tells me so.
I ride into the teeth of the wind. I have ridden this route faster, but not
today. That invisible hand pushes against me. I can’t get any smaller. I grind
on. I am stronger with every pedal stroke.
I ride through the heat and the cold. "Which do you like better?" Neither.
Both drain energy away from the pedals. Both tempt me: Why don’t you take it
easy? Why not skip this one? I don’t. I ride. I am stronger with every pedal
stroke.
I will never win an Olympic medal, a yellow jersey, or anything with rainbow
trim. I will spend hundreds of hours on my bike and win only one thing for it:
pain. I am stronger with every pedal stroke. The pain tells me so.
Only people who ride can really understand. We wave or nod when we pass. We
are the family of strangers who know each other intimately by what we feel. The
pain tells us so. We are stronger with every pedal stroke.
It tells us we’re alive. We could be doing nothing, but choose to ride. We
ride. We hurt. We live.
Pain has become our friend.
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