154.
Back at the cabin I semi-settle-in for a full day of down time. I opt for a bike ride, my trusty Felt road-bike tuned and ready for the winding country roads that surround the woodsy compound. As it always does, once I relax into a cadence groove and feel the wind rush past my face, thoughts pop into consciousness like a hoard of unsuspecting gnats. To me this is one of the most undervalued elements of the regimen known as slow, steady distance. The same phenomena I find with running, hiking and paddling, but not, for some mysterious reason, with swimming. As much as my ‘fish friends’ swear by the meditative freedoms of lap swimming, I cannot juxtapose sitting in water.
I hit a five percent downhill stretch and confirm my estimate that we have reached 60kph. Hot day, blue skies, smooth pavement, little traffic and a wide shoulder combine for an outstanding experience. And then I take a bug to the face, the proverbial fly in the grille. Using the sting as a present moment reminder - and arrogant in the knowledge that he won’t have the guts to do THAT again - I consider our opening play, the official roll-out of phase one, now just a day away.
It seems to me that when my body is producing high-grade organic wattage, fueling the graceful movement through time and space, that there are two missing components in this essential circumstance. One is the mind, what am I thinking, who is in charge here, what is the chicken and egg metaphor, does the mind control my body or is it a biased doubting Thomas simply along for the ride? The other is my soul. Almost always when I am able to orchestrate some harmonic balance between the thunder in my core and the lightening of my cosmic consciousness, the storm of spirit rides alongside and challenges me to a test of character.
“You think you got this figured out?” She speaks to me with her usual subtle pairing of compassion and challenge.
It is not necessary that I reply so I add with another ten watts of outbound power as an indication of my gameness.
“Everything is now dear one, the past has created your present moment and this snapshot of eternity will in turn illustrate your tomorrow.”
The awareness in my body responds by wondering what happens at maximum output: If I am having this enlightened experience at eighty percent of perceived exertion, what would happen at ninety or even ninety-nine percent? I look at the computer attached to the handlebars for confirmation and see that despite the grade elevation at just under level, I am maintaining speed in an efficient, powerful and blissful manner.
“Are you capable of sustaining this flow-state?”
I silently respond with a snarky, “We’ll soon see, won’t we?”
“Yes, we will. But please remember that thinking you can, wanting or wishing it to be so or hoping that it somehow might, are weak emotional cop-outs, the weasel words of empowerment, to hit your max potential you must INTEND for these events to happen. Do you see?”
I feel as if that hoard of gnats was lying in wait for the chance at this ambush. They are here to distract me with chaos intent on turning this glorious ride into an anxious, upsetting and uncomfortable jaunt.
“That will not happen,” I vow, wiping the bloody residue of the learning process from my chin.
“Boldly go, you are a fearless warrior, a protector of your tribe. You cannot fail.”
Ride finished I nurse the Felt back down the dirt road to the cabin feeling like the quick thirty miles was more like a trip to the intersection of Destiny and Enlightenment.
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