There is a paradox at the heart of human consciousness. Our time here is limited, and yet, to enjoy that time we often need to slow down. How does a person cram it all in, while simultaneously allowing things to happen in their time? Do we squander the time afforded us, or do we rush headlong into the grave?
Let me start again.
I have only one of those problems. I am impatient. I have a very hard time slowing down. The child of a workaholic who feels huge pressure to be productive at all times. A slave to the content machine. High functioning ADD turned into the superpower of rapid-fire ideas, writing, side projects spiraling out in every direction, the laundry done, the dinner cooked, the dishes washed, all of it so many hounds baying at the door to be let out.
I often think I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I could slow down, if I could concentrate on a thing for an extended period, not just work, but the butterflies working the bushes in our backyard, or a plan to do something fun with my wife.
She says, “Go slow to go fast.” She’s smart, with what some might call an “even temperament.” I feel calmer when I’m around her. Saner.
OK. OK. Let me start again. Again.
This is about riding bikes. After two months without pedaling once, I am back in saddle, albeit gently. I sprained my ankle as badly as I ever have (and it’s an injury I’m well familiar with), and the damaged ligaments are only now able to sustain some pressure. I’m on flat pedals only, no clipping in or out. I cannot shred. I cannot stay out very long. I can pedal softly for an hour or so. I love it, and…
This turns out to be maddeningly difficult.
My friend Jennifer said to me, “I never ride hard to work. I just tootle,” and that has become an inside joke between us. “Did you tootle today?” When tootling, one doesn’t sweat like beer fresh out of the cooler. When tootling, one notices that one weird tree near the pond, maybe even stops there to take a picture. Tootling is a good thing to do.
I suggested to her once that my default mode is “power tootle,” and she laughed, because she knows I’m not made for tootling.
Here’s the thing, though. I’ve been off the bike two months and have an ankle that is not yet structurally sound. Tootling is all I’ve got. If I wanted to couch it in more Type A terms, I might say I’m confined to Zone 2, and that is actually the correct path to fitness. It is literally “going slow to go fast.”
OK. One last time. Let me start again.
I’m grateful to be back on the bike. The sun is shining here in metro-Boston. It’s not yet too hot. I missed riding badly, and now I’m riding again. Everything is alright. Soon my ankle will have the strength to do more, and my heart and lungs will be ready. When I stop to think about it, it’s great.
Tootling is good. It beats the alternative.
After two serious bouts of Covid last fall, I’m sorta getting back into my typical “push it to the red line” behavior on a bike. Still with a couple cardiology appointments, though. But so far, I can do the 220 minus my age and not have to find someone to pick me up off the street and cart me to the mortuary. It does get better. I hope.
Good luck with the ankle. I know how it feels to be on the sidelines cussing under one’s breath that life is not fair. Life is never fair, except when it is. Sometimes.
I had a sports car…I am getting older, and told my husband my body hates getting out of a low slung rocket. He bought me a hybrid suv…I went for 80 mph to 35 mph enjoying the slow, none pressure drive…kind of like a dream state where there is no “fast” pressure. I bike…a lot, I bike with my husband, who just engages in it for me, kind of to amuse me. He is slower than me, but, I tootle with him…it brings me joy just to be with him on a “slow ride”…where ever it takes us. Hard to slow the mind down, but I can slow my body down to enjoy things I zoomed past! Welcome to 60 years old…you slow down to admire the beauty of the world!!!