Greetings, cycopaths — and happy Easter. (If you don’t celebrate the Christian holiday, well, happy Sunday.)
I apologize to you all for my absence. My last post was March 29. I could make excuses about all the reasons I’ve not kept up with my twice-a-week publishing schedule; but I won’t.
Let’s just say I’ve been living. I sincerely hope you’ve been doing the same.
If you read Cycotherapy in the early morning, I will be out on my bicycle as you read this. My first ride since March 18. (Yikes.) I’m imagining a glorious flow through the rolling hills of north central Ohio. Endless brown fields sprinkled green with spring’s promise. Singing birds. A cool breeze. Zero vehicles and burning lungs. And lactic acid buildup? Pshhhh! My legs will remember. There will be no pain and all bliss.
Nah. It’ll be painful. Somewhat. I know that. Yet the pain doesn’t stop us from hopping into the saddle over and over and over and over again, eh? That’s why we’re cycopaths.
I’m hoping the 30-40 miles I get in on the bike stirs my creative juices a bit to help me get through a bit of a slump. A nice little sesh with my shrink to get my mind and body in sync.
Cycotherapy has not perished. It lives!
