Time to heal

To heal is human. From the instant the doctor slaps us on the ass, we're a collection of cells frantically playing damage control. As little ones, these battles are largely physical - first bumps, scrapes from those wobbly, untrained legs giving out, and the like.

Somewhere along the way we begin to add new injuries, those that can't be fixed with a kiss from mom or Scooby Doo bandage. We learn that these wounds are just as painful, sometimes more, and the body's recipe for repair isn't as prescribed as sending in a bunch of white blood cells and later building new tissue. No, we must discover the paths to healing on our own, figuring out what works best in making the pain disappear. A passionately violent roar, music a few decibels too loud, a close friend's ear, family support, and many dusty (or muddy) miles are a few of the things that come to mind. And just like the learned response of not touching a hot stove twice, we need to learn not to repeat the offenses that cause searing anguish.

While life is a learning experience, and the journey has many nuances, I would like to think that I am at long last beginning to close a chapter, learn from while also cherishing its experiences, and dust myself off from this recent, but really not so, tumble. My strong desire to have everything work out well makes it difficult to just let go but I'm tryin', I swear.

I'm looking forward to a new riding season of physical bumps and bruises to cover up those emotional ones that have been holding me down as of late. And I'll continue to add to my healing repertoire until that time when these old bones can no longer muster their restorative powers, forcing me to ride off into the great single track heaven.