On Sunday I’m going to ride in a bicycle race. It’s a semi-classic, which means that some of the race will be on cobblestones, some gravel, some woodland path, and the rest on tarmac. It’s 72km long which is a mere trifle compared to the professional’s races like last weekend’s Paris Roubaix which is 240km+. Oh what joy. I’ve done this race the last two years as well, and both times I PROMISED myself I wouldn’t do it again. Mental illness right! Well, a combination of midlife and IMAGINED* peer pressure is pushing me to do it again. Months of semi-serious preparation, training, mechanical tinkering, anxiety, dark thoughts and hypochondria. And the whole time I could have been drawing, writing, making music or just taking a holiday. In sports I finally found a way of procrastinating which takes me from my place at the desk with a pen in my hand. One obsessive activity replaces another. At least art produces something tangible. Normal creative service resumes Monday.
* Flemming points out that he doesn’t give two hoots if I do it or not…
