Day 221 - Riding and Running

Ok... truth? I probably shouldn't be riding a motorcycle.

I'm a dad.

I'm getting dangerously close to being old... -ish.

And even though I'm embarrassingly safe on the thing, inside there's a 22-yr old Tyler Durden who wants to dive into a corner, refusing the brake, leaning further and further, sure that the tires will give way... but they don't. And then he'd twist the throttle wide open, feel the engine turn gulps of gasoline into bushels of giddy-up, and see how fast the scenery can rush past.*

Whew... I need just a second... I'm a little verklempt...ok...

The thing is, that at their roots, running and riding are very similar in that they can be means of escape.

Glorious, uplifting, and usually sweaty, escapes. One the road, either by two wheels or two feet, I can be utterly alone, even in a crowd. On the bike, the helmet is my force-field. Inside it, I am free from distraction, annoyance, and cell phone. On a run, my force-field is a glossy coat of sweat, and really short shorts... and odd shoes... and I stink.

Moving on...

Both running and riding demand that I be present... paying attention. My worries, tasks, troubles, wants, are all left in the driveway. Here and now have my full attention. If not, I'm likely to find myself on the pavement. And in the case of the motorcycle, myself might be smeared on the pavement.

Finally, and this is for the guys... chicks dig bikes, and runners. Bikes because their sleek and fast and powerful and sexy. Runners, same reasons.

Good running,
Doug

*The instant that punk takes over, I sell the bike.

Numbers: 1.4 miles... again. But the achilles is feeling good (knock wood, please).