I can't do this anymore. Just hold the wheel in front of you. I can't do this anymore. For a split second my cadence relents, coming out of turn two. In the blink of an eye I'm sitting twenty positions further back. No, don't do it, just keep going. If you keep going the pain will stop. I wish I could, but I can't. I won't.
It's been seven months since I started structured training; the schedule of graded fitness, peaks, and valleys. Seven months of living like a monk, so they say. During that time I hadn't touched alcohol, hung out with friends, eaten what I wanted to eat; instead I rode my bike. Everyday.
For seven months my life has been an example of discipline, sacrifice, endurance, and willpower. In all of those things, as of now, I am almost completely bankrupt. Mental and emotional bankruptcy is the I won't that has defeated me no matter how much I wish for the contrary.
Endurance training and competition is likened to an elastic band, the newer you are to the concept the less your capacity to stretch. Before you snap.
Over the course of the season you stretch in anticipation of a peak, hopefully to your maximal limit, but not beyond. If you pull the band too tight all your training is for naught and you have to let it take slack. Sometimes the band snaps. In that event you'll be putting up your road shoes until next year.
Jesus Christ. You came all the way down here, don't give up you fool. I didn't want to, but I had to come, I needed to know, just to be sure. Ten more positions down. Little gaps open up. Competitors swarm around and speed ahead like salmon up a stream. I'm sinking. This isn't me. Someone else is racing in my place. God what an embarrassment. I'm tired of the pain, the sacrifice, constantly being on edge, stewing over training, the next race, my weight. One more place.. another. I can't because I won't. I don't want this anymore.
Snap.
"It's too hot for you guys to be doing this," comments a passerby. I'm sitting in the shade of a building, propped up against it's cool brick facade. I mumble something of a reply. It's almost automatic, done out of some sense of courtesy. His overweight form begins to waddle off down the street. I feel sick. Watching him meander down the street I imagine he just welcomed me to the ranks of the disgusting mediocre.
Author's note:
I haven't given up cycling, this post is merely my literary rendition of "burn-out" and the effects it has. Burn-out is quite powerful, and though it is in most cases transient, it can still lead to immediate feelings of long-term conviction. Honestly enough, I doubted that I would ever want to ride my bike again after the Springfield Crit; though I have realized I simply need time off.
My experience with burn-out is worth sharing because many cyclists feel its effects and, like me, might be knocked back on their heels by them. What I have found through my own experiences is that when faced with chronic feelings of discontent (i.e. not even wanting to touch your bike) an individual has to size up their situation and change their course of action. In my case I realized that ending my road season now would be best for having a healthy and successful season next year.
As for now I'm swimming with my girlfriend and running with my best bud, heck I might even do a triathalon.
