Young Gun Firing

Two nights ago, my head down on the trainer willing a long Chemical Brothers song to end because it would mean the end of my interval, it occurred to me that I am young. Advantageously young.

Twenty-four may not be youthful in cycling years – which are kind of like dog years – but when it comes to pushing the human body, year 24 is still firmly in the reckless prime. I may have already sprouted a few silver hairs, but I am way far away from the master’s category. My muscles are fresh, my body lean and my life obligations limited.

As my trainer session wound down and I sat up, soft pedaling and feeling the hopeful flex of my thigh muscles, I realized that youthfulness allows me to go hard from the gun, get in shape fast and not worry too much about hurting myself as long as I’m smart and reasonable. So why not?

A few years ago, while I was in college, I decided to do the Thanksgiving day 5k with my dad, an uncle and a cousin. I hadn’t run in years and still pretty much hated running, but was growing increasingly competitive with my father, and he was eager to write up a training plan for me. I had less than two months to get in shape so that I could at least do the thing comfortably. The day of the race, I ran the whole course, averaging 9:30 miles. That may sound slow, but for someone who hates running (have I mentioned that I hate running?), a sub-30:00 5k that required no walking was quite the feat.

I can do this bike racing thing.

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